


Lannister Leisure Adventures Proudly Presents Transcontinental Travel Escapes for the City Dweller Who Fears A Public Execution Ordered By A Close Family Member.

by Logos_Faber



Series: Stark Raving Lannister [3]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gen, not depicted., rape is mentioned
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-29
Updated: 2017-06-13
Packaged: 2018-05-24 00:47:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 24
Words: 64,731
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6135679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Logos_Faber/pseuds/Logos_Faber
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The honeymoon escapades of newlyweds who don't want to be married.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

This is a non-profit work of fiction for the amusement of other fans.

No infringement is intended.

Logos Faber

o0o

WARNING: SEXUAL VIOLENCE AGAINST A WOMEN MENTIONED IN THIS CHAPTER!

The Sept of Baelor was open for public worship on holidays and everyday at noon for the seven fold Zuhr prayers. The highborn were allowed to enter the Sept of Baelor after the first bell tolled, the wealthy after the third bell, and the small folk after the seventh.

 

The High Septon and the Holy Sparrow stood side by side at the top of the steps of the Sept of Baelor waiting to greet Zuhr worshipers. The choir of acolytes behind them sang the call to prayer giving them the privacy to speak to each other freely.

 

“Since coming to the capital I have neither witnessed or heard anything to suggest the ruling family is particularly religious in any sense of the word,” the High Sparrow stated bluntly.

 

In the short time the Sparrow had known the new High Septon he had found the man to be honest but too gentle to be effective.

 

“I am from the Golden Star monastery of Casterly Rock. I am very familiar with the entire Lannister family,” the High Septon admitted.

 

“And what do you think of their natural inclinations and personal habits?”

 

“I am but a humble vessel of clay made from the dust. The same as every man born of women. It is not for me to judge.”

 

“You were anointed by the Seven Who Are One to wage war against the decadence and depravity and desperation rotting the very soul of Westeros! We do not pray dirt from the floor, we scour it clean with soap, hot water and vigorous scrubbing!”

 

“It is written that the gods are infinite and the weapons of our warfare are spiritual. I choose to live the change I want to see in the world  by ministering to the lost, and encouraging the faithful. If the gods want the dirt off the floor they have the power to clean it without a drop of blood spilled.”

 

“It is also written faith without works is dead your High Holiness.”

 

“Yes, well if the Seven Holy Gods strike me dead for praying for the salvation of the lost rather than dragging them to the true faith bloodied and in chains then you, my loyal confidant, shall succeed me and I fervently pray the next transition of holy power will be bloodless.”

 

“If it is the gods will, I too pray it shall be so.”

 

The former High Septon, ‘the fat man’ as the peasants called him, had left the daily business of ministry to novices and acolytes while he curried favor with the wealthy and the crown.

 

The new High Septon believed leading by example and taking a more hands on approach to ministry. He eschewed the costly robes and crystal crown of the holy office in favor of a homespun habit belted with rope and sandals. He preached every day, and attended every service.

 

Much to the Holy Sparrows consternation, the High Septon did not insist the 77 Most Devout follow his example. His High Holiness expected the 77 Most Holy to give up their worldly comforts only if the Seven Holy Gods asked them for that act of faith.

 

The High Sparrow was not holding his breath.

 

In the square at the foot of the stairs a crowd gathered to wait for their turn to enter the holy sept of the capital to hear the word of the gods and be blessed.

 

The landed gentry and wealthy merchants were closest to the foot of the steps, the poor and unimportant further back. The classes - who would be equal in heaven - were separated by city guards and private sellswords in front of the god’s temple.

 

There was a commotion, a ripple of surprised exclamations rippling from the far end of the square. The two priest looked up to see the Lady Sansa looking lovely as the Holy Maid sitting tall and proud in the saddle of a high stepping palfrey leading a small party into the square.

 

Lady Sansa wore a sunlight golden dress and smiled as brightly as her clothes. Her thick scarlet hair was unraveling from the complected braid across the top of her head, and wavy tendrils of copper-flame flapped behind her like the ribbons on a knight's lance.

 

Lord Tyrion rode in the shadow cast by his pretty young wife and her mount at her side on a pony. Behind the noble couple followed two bannermen in crimson leather jerkins like Lord Tyrion’s.

 

The man with dead eyes held a loaded crossbow across his lap. The round face youth hand one hand on the hilt of this sword.

 

Even without heralds to announce the couple; the people packed into the flagstone courtyard before the Sept of Baelor made way for her horse, melting back to the sides like frost before the flame.

 

“For a lady who has married a man with a devilish reputation for debauchery, the Lady Sansa looks remarkably... composed,” the Sparrow observed to the High Septon. “The Seven gods are merciful. I pray the gods continue to prevail upon Lord Tyrion to be kind to his new child bride.”

 

“Perhaps in time, her innocence and love will lead Lord Tyrion back to the faith of his forefathers. I pray for his soul’s sake that it be so,” the High Septon said hopefully.

 

Lady Sansa attended Zuhr at the Sept of Baelor almost everyday. The rest of the royal family was markedly less devout. Lord Tyrion especially so.

 

“Can a imp’s soul be saved?” the Sparrow asked raising a snow white eyebrow tilting his head inquiringly.

 

“Is it not written in the Seven Pointed Star that there are none so lost that the Holy Crone’s light can not show them wisdom?”

 

“It is so written.”

 

“Is it not also written that a living witness is worth a thousand sermons to the lost?”

 

“It is so written.”

 

“Then why should you or I or anyone not believe and pray that the gods may use Lady Sansa to reawaken of Lord Tyrion’s faith?”

 

“If it is the gods will, I too pray it shall be so.”

 

When the lord and lady reined in their mounts at the foot of the stairs, Lady Sansa swung down from the saddle smoothly without help. The dead eyed man surveyed the crowd like a hawk looking for rats. The youth tied first the lady's horse to the hitching post, then his own.

 

Lady Sansa held the head of her husband’s mule while the dwarf dismounted his pony awkwardly. The couple smiled at each other in a friendly way as they joined hands and mounted the stairs together.

 

Lady Sansa visibly checked her speed, and began moving up the stairs instep with her dwarf husband.

 

The youth pulled a heavy saddle bag off his horse on to his shoulder then hurried up the stairs after his master and mistress. The heavy saddle bag over his shoulder made him tilt to one side as he struggled to catch up.

 

The dead eyed man stayed beside the horses, tethered to a hitching post.

The Holy Sparrow knew while the new High Septon was elevated to the highest holy office by the 77 Most Devout, he was recruited from a monastery near Casterly Rock by then pro tem Hand of the King, Lord Tyrion Lannister.

 

“Lord Tyrion Lannister does not have a reputation of lapsed piety,” the Sparrow probed. “Quite the opposite in fact. I was not in the capital a full day before tales of Lord Tyrion’s extravagant hedonism became known to me.”

 

“I was a newly consecrated brother when Tyrion was a boy, assistant to the Elder Brother of Seven Stones in Casterly Rock who ministered to the Lannister family. Tyrion was very devout. He often had me flog him with the strap to control his lustful impulses.”

 

“Did he really?” the Sparrow asked surprised. “You rather than the Elder Brother?”

 

That was usually the way of it, particularly after a noble was caught making bastards by his wealthy or politically strong noble wife. The man would suffer the strap as penance for his lust, but it was usually delivered by a septon who could barely lift a cup to his mouth.

 

“Oh yes. The Elder Brother was to old and feeble to do him good,” the High Septon assured the Sparrow. “He wanted the strength of my youth.”

 

“What happened to make him fall so completely, away from the Faith?” the Sparrow asked. He had not been long in the capital before tales of the wanton excess common among the affluent was made known to him.

 

Tyrion’s reputation was notable even amongst the notorious.

 

“The Elder Brother preached all men are children of the Seven, and equal in their sight. Tyrion, the naive child, took his words to heart. When he fell in love with a crofter’s daughter, he went to the Elder Brother, and the fool married them. They were together a year before Tywin found out.”

 

The High Septon paused in telling his story to receive Lord and Lady Lannister. She stepped forward and curtseyed deeply, touching her forehead to the High Septon’s out stretched hand. Her husband followed her example but only bowed from the waist because he was so short.

 

“Your Holiness, Brother Sparrow, may I present my husband Lord Tyrion Stark-Lannister.”

 

“You are taking your wife’s name Lord Tyrion?” the Sparrow asked surprised.

 

“Yes your Holiness. By order of King Joffrey, upon our marriage she is heiress of Winterfell, and I am made Warden of the North. As I bring nothing substantial to our union, it seemed proper I should take my lady’s name,” the little man replied.

 

Tyrion gestured and his squire came forward. The round faced boy made a jerky genuflection and lay the heavy saddle bag at the feet of the holy men. Podrick Payne opened the flaps revealing one bag was full of silver stags and the other gold dragon coins.

 

“The crown has fully repaid the debt owed the to the Faith of the Seven, my Lord Tyrion,” his Holiness said.

 

“This is a gift for in the name of my Lady wife. I pray it relieves the suffering of the poor who flock to the Sept of Baelor looking for safety and charity in these times of civil strife.”

 

It was a princely gift. A tenth of the money Tyrion had embezzled from the fortune being spent on King Joffrey's wedding to Margaery Tyrell. It would be enough to keep the holy order fed and warm for all the years of winter to come.

 

“Thank you Lord Tyrion, You are very generous,” The High Septon praised. “Brother Sparrow will see to securing this.”

 

“Welcome to the Sept of Baelor Lord and Lady Stark-Lannister,” the High Sparrow said.

 

The Sparrow knelt down, buckled the saddle bag closed and hefted the weight onto one of his narrow thin shoulders with ease. The novices behind them, the wealthy merchants and peasants waiting at the foot of the stairs had seen the gift given, but did not know what it was.

 

Considering a starving mob ate the soft parts of him, stole his crown of crystal and all the golden holy relics during the Bread Riot it was safer that way.

 

The High Septon gestured one of the novices to come forward. “Please allow Brother Poe to guide you to your place.” The Stark-Lannisters and their squire followed the novice into the Sept of Baelor. The second bell tolled. The wealthy merchants began to climb the stairs.

 

“Why did Tywin wait a year to punish Tyrion for taking a wife from the small folk? He could have forbidden the match from the start.”

 

“He was busy securing Cersei’s marriage to Robert Baratheon, and working to suppress rebellion. He did not think much of Tyrion. When he left, instead of leaving him in charge of Casterly Rock he put him in charge of the sewers and cisterns.”

 

“A noble and necessary task. Making sure water is safe to drink is just as important as leading an army into battle. Often it saves more lives.”

 

“It was meant as an insult, but the Elder Brother encouraged young Tyrion to see it as a test of his faith and devotion as a son. Tyrion did the task well, and with a cheerful heart. Saved the city from the plague of dysentery and typhoid that swept Westeros that spring. The people were grateful.”

 

“A man like Tywin would not be pleased to have a son married to a girl from humble origins who was happy to be a lowly plumber...Was the girl’s death quick and painless?”

 

“Tywin did not kill Tysha outright. He had her raped by his guard. Each man gave her a silver coin. Tyrion found out, rushed to her defense and Tywin had him flogged. Tywin told his son he could either end it by buggering his wife with the handle of a broom or it would continue until she died.”

 

“What did Tyrion do?”

 

“He begged mercy of his father, begged he be killed instead. Tywin had him flogged for weakness. Tyrion prayed to to gods while his wife screamed and his back was shredded. The Elder Brother came running. Tywin gutted him like a pig for his part in it. Tyrion gave in.”

 

“What happened to the girl?”

 

“Tywin kept his word. When Tyrion was done with her, Tywin had him carried back to his rooms. They left Tysha lying in filth without a backward glance. I carried her and the Elder Brother in a mule cart to a convent of the Silent Sisters. She survived. I told Tyrion she and his son died.”

 

“Why did you lie?”

 

“Because Tysha did die. The women who rose from her ashes was not Tyrion’s wife. Sister Alayne has found peace among the Silent Sisters, and it is better that Tyrion never seek her out. I pray the gods are merciful and Tyrion’s affection for Sansa, heals his heart and renews his faith.”

 

“Knowing that, you still came to King’s Landing when Tyrion sent for you? Are you no longer afraid of what the Lannisters might do to you? Or have you learned to turn a blind to their rampant evil?”

 

“My faith is not as strong as yours Sparrow. I should martyred myself with the Elder Brother, but I was weak and the Stranger has haunted my shadow ever since. When Tyrion summoned me I knew it was truly the will of the Seventh God that I finally face my death with the Warrior’s heart.”

 

“I will pray with you High Septon,” the Sparrow promised solemnly. “That your faith not fail a second time.”

 

“Thank you Sparrow. I know the day is fast approaching when a lion of Lannister will roar so fiercely it will make my soul tremble in fear. The Seven willing I will proudly stand for what I know to be right even in the face of pain and certain death.”

  
“You will be strong as the smith and might as the warrior when your end comes. You will be remembered as a great martyr of the faith.”

 


	2. Chapter 2

-x-X-x-

The river Blackwater Rush lay like the clean shining blade of a new sword between the towering Crownland woods rising on either side like green fortress walls. 

Three galley ships sailed up stream in smooth lunges propelled by sixty men below decks on the oars and a coxswain beating time like a pulsing heart. The largest of the two masted narrow boats trailed in the wake of the smaller two, like a Lord following his hunting hounds. 

Sansa, and her new handmaid Septa Kuthe were sharing the back uppermost cabin of the largest ship. Her new husband, Lord Tyrion Lannister, his hired swords, and squire were bunked together in the forward uppermost cabin. 

Septa Kuthe was sleeping soundly and snoring softly, twisted up in blankets on her straw stuffed trundle pulled out from under Sansa’s feather fluffed bunk bed. Lady Sansa, in her shift and belted robe sat on the padded bench nailed securely to the floor beneath the back window. 

She absent mindedly plucked a tune from the golden harp in her she cradled like a babe against her shoulder, the spider Varys wedding gift, and watched the misty false dawn fade away to a clear morning through the sheer gauze curtain covering the back window of her room. 

Her apprehensive mood steadily improved with the growing light of day and the Red Keep growing smaller behind the tall trees of the Crownland woods as the ships raced forward. 

Tyrion really was as good as his word. 

Sansa had escaped the shadow of death that hung over her at King’s Landing, and was sailing against the tide to her home in the north and what remained of her family. 

He had even arranged to have everything that could be found of her father’s, sister’s, and dead household Knight’s bones and possessions gathered, packed and loaded onto the boats for the trip north. 

She did not know what the other two ships were costing him, but Robb had better repay Tyrion for his troubles.

Sansa and her family took the King’s Road from Winterfell Citadel in the North to the Red Keep Castle at King’s Landing. The Royal carriages, luggage, knights and bannermen, with the addition of the Stark’s and their retainers took three months to travel the between the great castles. 

The trip was made tediously long by King Robert’s frequent stops to hunt game, accept the hospitality of the knights (and whores) in the villages they passed through. Few of the inns were fit for ladies, so Sansa, Arya and their Septa shared a tent and slept on rough straw beds.

During the day Arya whined about not being allowed to ride a horse like the men and boys while their Septa preached endlessly about manners and decorum. At night Arya was a restless sleeper who kicked Sansa black and blue and their speta snored like a pig rooting around for truffles.

At the time Sansa thought the only thing more miserable than spending eight to ten hours trapped in a hot covered wagon with her horrid little sister and nagging governess, was spending eight to ten hours a night trapped in a tent with thin walls with the same irritating people being bit by bugs. 

The only thing that allowed Sansa to maintain her ladylike poise was the certainty her new wonderful life as crown princess lay ahead of her in King’s Landing like a rainbow after a thunderstorm. She had only to endure, and be patient. 

In King’s Landing she would emerge from the dull grey husk of her family a gold and crimson princess. As beautiful and graceful as Cersei, beloved of her handsome prince and her people. 

Sansa would be queen of the Seven Kingdoms, and the mother of kings. She would do great things and though songs her name would never be forgotten. 

The silly dreams of a silly young girl had gotten her father killed and her sister lost forever. Despite her conversation with Tyrion the day before, Sansa no longer wanted to marry. She was done trusting anyone with her future besides herself. 

After almost two years of Lannister hospitality Sansa Stark-Lannister was ready to stip naked, jump into Blackwater Bay and swim to Essos if it meant she could put distance between herself and as much of the Lannister family as possible.

The spare cabin of the Dawn Treader was asture as a nun’s cell compared to her quarters at King’s Landing but to Sansa it was the most beautiful, charming room she had inhabited since she left the Citadel of Winterfell.

The room had a railed bunk bed lenght-wise along one wall and a long table both short-wise opposite. Both were attached to the wall by a henge and chains so they could be raised or lowered as needed. 

Two padded long benches were nailed to the floor to act as seats for the table. Sansa trunks, and Tyrion’s strong boxes were chained beneath the legs of the benches to keep them from sliding around when the ship rocked. 

Sansa’s cabin had it’s own little brazer and coal shuttle on a tiled part of the floor, a little barrel of rainwater and dipper, and a private privy: a bucket with a wooden seat on a swivel base that could be spun outside and emptied with a flick of a foot lever. 

With the thick iron banded door closed and barred from inside Sansa was so felt so safe and comfortable in her private retreat she really wished they could sail up the coast from King’s Landing, around the Vale to the White Harbor and up the White Knife to home. 

That way Sansa could go from the sanctuary of her secluded cabin to the sanctuary of Winterfell’s thick walls without further risk. Tyrion insisted, it was urgent they sail up Blackwater Rush to God’s Eye, disembark at Harrenhal and trek cross country to reach the Twins before new moon.

Sansa was not informed of troop movements but she assumed her brother Robb was somewhere near there. She assumed Tyrion meant to hand her over to her family and make a run for the coast, escaping to Braavos before the tides and winds turned violent with the season. 

Able to consider something beyond the pressing need to stay alive for one more day, Sansa wondered - for the first time - if she really wanted to be permanently returned to her family’s custody. 

There was a saying amongst the small folk - a son is your strength all of your life, your daughters are borrowed, servants waiting to wife.

Even after all she had gone through, Sansa did not expect her family would let her remain unmarried long. With Robb at war with the world they would need alliances, and marriage was the old, sure way to bind pacts.

Despite his reputation as a perverted little beast, Sansa had not seen Tyrion do anything that suggested he was inclined to exhibit Joffrey’s violence or the Hound Clegane’s suggestive leering toward her. But their marriage was young, she would have to continue observe him closely.

If the choice turned out to be the war leader, Roose Bolton, who every scullery maid in Winterfell hid from because he was prone to violating servants or nasty Greyjoy who mocked her when no one was looking, Sansa was staying with Tyrion and shipping out on the first thing sailing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please remember the time line in this story is meant to jump back and forth between Sansa's last day at King's Landing, and her journey back to the loving arms of her family somewhere in Riverrun.


	3. Chapter 3

-x-X-x-

 

For decades Bronn had sold his deadly services to men and women with more money than morals.

Lord Tyrion was the first to accorded Bronn the respect due to a knight born of noble lineage, and pay Bronn what he asked without haggling over the price.

Lord Tyrion was not ashamed to be seen in public with Bronn. He made sure all and sundry knew Bronn acted on his authority. Lord Tyrion  _listened_ to Bronn’s advice and never remind Bronn of his ‘ _place_ ’.

Lord Tyrion supplied Bronn with room, board, weapons, whores, horses - even arranged for Bronn to knighted by King Joffrey Baratheon in the throne room.

Knighthood was the lowest rung on the nobility ladder; a lofty height above the station of life Bronn was born into.

There were scores of merchants and guild masters with more gold than the legions of lowly hedge knights living hand to mouth across the Seven Kingdoms.

By law land went to men who served lords. Even if a merchant accumulated more gold than Tywin Lannister they still could never own more than the acre of land around their shop. By becoming Sir Blackwater, Bronn had become a potential son-in-law to wealthy men with social ambitions. 

In addition being Tyrion Lannister’s trusted lieutenant in a city controlled by Lord Tywin Lannister, Warden of the West, Lord of Casterly Rock, Hand of the King, Lord Commander of the Golden Horde, carried a great deal of clout.

Every whorehouse in town – except Peter Baelish’s overpriced den of sin- offered Bronn the most skilled women in their employ for his pleasure. Their finest wines and dainty delicacies were presented at prices that amounted to little more than what Bronn might pay a market vendor for bread and cheese.

Since he had left the city watch Bronn killed five men for cheating him at cards, and stabbed another in his leg grievously after being caught in bed with the man’s wife. When the City Watch arrived on the scene, the new Captain of the City’s defense had disregarded all witness accounts except Bronn’s.

He was not taken to the cells below the Red Keep, he was not summoned to appear be for the Magistrate. He did not even have to pay a fine. Bronn was released with a verbal reprimand to make an effort to keep the King’s Peace.

Whatever Bronn did or was doing was considered sanctioned by Tyrion Lannister the king’s uncle, and son of Tywin Lannister the King’s Hand and therefore perfectly legal.

It was easy for Bronn to understand why the Mountain Sir Gregor Clegane ran amok.

It was hard _not_ to abuse the liberties granted to Lannister banner man in a Lannister town.

As a result of all the good Tyrion had brought into Ser Bronn Blackwater's life, he really could not help being fond of Lannister dwarf and very keen to see Tyrion Lannister succeed in all his schemes.

With the a generous, wealthy overlord like Tyrion, it seemed all but inevitable that Bronn would marry a rich heiress and Tyrion would grant him an estate with fertile lands to go with his new coat of arms.

The only cloud on the horizon of Sir Bronn Blackwater’s rosy future life filled with fortune, feasts, family, farmland and fucking was the new Lady Lannister - Sansa Stark.

Tyrion’s fickle honor recoiled with disgust at the idea of touching his timid child-bride. Which Bronn could understand.

Sansa was pale as a plague victim with the bosom, hips and romp of a sickly broomstick.  Bronn would have pitied Tyrion’s marriage partner if he had not seen Lady Catelyn Stark.

Lady Stark was not a young woman, but she was still attractive and it was clear that Catelyn had once been very lovely. Bronn felt certain that with proper food, rest and protection Lady Stark’s skinny daughter would blossom.

A buxom woman with flashing eyes, a horse's mane of fine hair and natural grace could command high prices in a whore house.

Such a women as a knight’s wife could seduce her way to great influence in a king’s court.  

As the lady wife of a lord high born as Tyrion Lannister, a jaw dropping beauty could easily start a war - just as Cersei Lannister had done.

It was not difficult to imagine Tyrion falling helplessly in love with his wife then devoting his life - and by default Bronn’s - to fulfilling the girl’s every desires. Lannister men were devoted to their women, and expected the same of their vassals. There were few bastards in the Western lands.

The problem was beyond the obvious - getting the hell away from Joffrey the terrible - Bronn had no idea what Sansa Stark wanted. If Bronn could get a bead on the Stark girl, he could easily steer Tyrion toward the path most likely to lead to Bronn's comfortable retirement surrounded by wealth, women and wine.

Tyrion planned to leave the capital before daybreak on the morrow. Logically, they needed to pack their belongings, eat well, and rest in preparation for the journey. Instead Lord and Lady Lannister had decided to stroll through the market quarter after breakfast and put off packing till later.

In all the time they had resided in King’s Landing Tyrion had never shown the slightest interest in doing anything not directly relate to his work for the crown, drinking or having sex with Shae. Tyrion’s new found enthusiasm for shopping amongst the common folk was no doubt Sansa’s influence.

Not that Bronn blamed her.

What else was the Stark girl to do with a husband she certainly did not want to have sex with besides spend his money and distract him with useless chatter?

Bronn was frankly appalled at Shae's lack of professionalism. If Shae had any sense, the whore would pull Tyrion into a dark corner and suck the imp’s dick to limit Sansa’s growing power over Tyrion. But no, the whore was too busy stewing in her jealousy to see she was about to lose her meal-ticket to a virgin.

The situation for Shae was worse than Bronn losing in a knife fight against Tyrion’s squire Podrick Payne. At least the squire had some experience handling a blade, unlike Sansa Stark.

If Shae were a flea-bottom girl, Sansa would not have stood a cat's chance in a dog kennel.

Squire Payne led the horses, while Bronn and the lazy handmaid whore Shae walked side by side following behind the Lannister couple into Cobbler’s Square. The merchant district of King’s Landing was divided into a Low Market and a High Market.

The Low Market was full of day traders who came into the King’s Landing from the surrounding countryside to sell the what valuables could be gathered from the land: logs, hogs, cows, reeds, flowers, corn, chickens, mushrooms, antlers, sacks of wool or feathers, animal skins and the like.

The humble peddlers sold from their two wheel carts, or spread their wares on top of blankets on the ground in the middle of the plaza. The High Market was the mudbrick shops along the four sides of Cobbler’s Square.

The open front shops in the High Market were row houses made of mud brick with the merchant's living quarters above and workshops in the back. Inside the shops entire families worked to guard their merchandise from thieves and up sell shoppers.

Shae had left her dark hair loose and dressed herself in three shades of red silk that covered less of her honey gold skin than it left exposed to contrast with Sansa.

Upon the announcement of Tyrion’s betrothal to Sansa, dowager Queen Cersei had taken all of Sansa’ clothes and replaced them with cast offs from her own trunks claiming the Stark girl could not marry into the royal family dressed in clothing bought by a traitor to the crown.

 Sansa wore her hair bound in a tight complicated rope around her head, and an old gold silk gown from Queen Cersei’s trunk elongated with wide strips of scarlet velvet at hem and wrist taken from another ‘gift’ from Cersei to make up for the fact the girl was a head taller than the queen.

The crowds parted as they approached. People openly watched them go by and whispered like they were a holy procession - many had not seen Sansa Stark since her father’s execution. Her wedding to Tyrion had not been open to the public for fear someone would try to save the bride by abduction.

Tyrion was too short for the couple walk arm in arm. Nor would it be comfortable for the imp to hold his lady’s hand since he would have to reach up past his shoulder to do so.

Sansa - the virgin no doubt guided by a woman's intuition on how to please a man - had placed her right hand on her little lord husband’s shoulder, near his neck. The way a mother might place a hand on her child to draw them close, and keep them safe in a crowded place.

Even from behind Bronn could tell Tyrion was pleased with Sansa’s public affection. The imp walked with a noticeable bounce in his step and an enthusiastic swing in his stubby arms. If Bronn did not know better, he would have thought that Tyrion had bedded the Stark girl, and she had enjoyed it.

Tyrion gestured to the alley filled with cloth sellers. “Would you care to choose fabric for some new gowns my lady?”

“Yes please, and perhaps some linen to send down to Princess Myrcella my Lord? I’m told it is very hot in Dorne. I imagine all of the dresses she left home with are stifling.”

The couple turned down the side road and it seemed Sansa stopped at every bleeding stall. She let people talk to her and she listened attentively. Tyrion and Podrick wondered off and left Bronn to follow the women. He was so bored he could have cried.

Free from relentless harassment the lady lark came out of her cage. She seemed to enjoy the attention. She was polite, and kind to all she spoke to. She called Shae to her side and they picked over an endless selection of frippery.

Sansa bought whole bolts of cloths, feathers, buttons, ribbons, ornaments, trim, needles, notions, thread, yarn, lush furs, dresses, cloaks, shoes, slippers, smalls, boots, and supple leather soft as a baby’s thighs for herself and Shae without once haggling on the price. When Tyrion returned she started on him.

Sansa bought boiled leather jerkins, shirts and cloaks for Tyrion, Podrick and Bronn in matching colors. She bought the men shirts, pants, cloaks, belts, gloves, boots, smalls and socks. Bronn sighed imagining a future where he, Tyrion and Podrick wore clothes in coordinating colors at all times like servants in livery.

Sansa moved on from fabrics to carpets and tappestries. She bought two lovely tapestries one with the Lannister Lion - yellow on a red background - the other a grey dire wolf in a white background, a massive rugs, blankets, heavy bed curtains, linens, barrels of pillow down, and wool felt to make batting for quilts.

Sansa visited the warehouse of book dealers. She innocently asked one man what she should read then let Tyrion and the many vendors who came over to join the loud conversation talk uninterrupted for what seemed like hours. When they finally left the warehouse the couple sent two wagons of books to the castle.

Sansa went to the spicers and perfumers; bought enough tea, scented oils, herbs and powdered flavors to fill three chests. Sansa went to metalworkers, carpenters, jewelers, chemist, herbalist, glassblowers, potters, scribner's - Podrick made seven trips back to castle to unload the five horses.

The girl seemed hell-bent on getting revenge against the Lannister family by spending every gold dragon they had and Tyrion was cheerfully letting her do it. Bronn was beginning to worry Sansa would refuse to leave the market until she visited every merchant present when he was saved by a of pair puppies.

The fuzzy fat bellied creature darted out of a taxidermy shop, followed by angry men in bloody aprons waving long curved knives.

The pair of dogs dodged their pursuers, weaved through the crowd startling several people into dropping their goods, knocked Tyrion down by using his shoulders as a spring board to make an impressive leap straight into Lady Sansa’s arms as if they had been looking for her all along.

The lady stumbled back slightly at the impact of their solid weight of the two animals into her chest but held the wriggly dogs close to her with both arms as they whined and licked her face enthusiastically.

“What the hell are they?” Tyrion asked picking himself up from the ground.

“Dire wolf pups!” His wife squealed happily. “Aren’t they beautiful? Can I keep them Tyrion? Oh please, please can I keep them? They won’t be any trouble! I’ll take care of them myself.”

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but don’t dire wolves grow to the size of horses?" Bronn asked warily eyeing the adorable animals. He had seen a belly dragging pregnant dire wolf take on a full grown white bear beyond the Wall of the North once.

In the end, Bronn had felt sorry for the bear.

“Yes, but they are very tame when trained from a young age. My family has kept wolves for years Sir Blackwater. I assure you, they make excellent pets -  look Tyrion,” Sansa knelt down so Tyrion could see the two fluffy puppies wrestling for space in his wife’s lap.

“They’re just babies; they’ve still got milk teeth.”

“Begging your pardon my lord Lannister, I'm so sorry for the trouble!" the older butcher panted hard to catch his breath, leaning forward with his hands on his knees.

"The wee beasts chewed through their cage -" the butcher's son tried to explain. "I'm so sorry sir! It's all _my_ fault! Please don't hurt my father -"

“It was a mistake, I swear. I'm sorry they attacked your lady wife - we’ll kill them straight off - send you the teeth -” the butcher promised.

“NO.”

Everyone turned to look at Sansa. For once the Stark girl looked like her father: fierce and dangerous as a winter storm.

“You will not kill them. You will not TOUCH them. They. Are. Mine,” she pronounced with the resolute finality of a queen upon her throne. “Pay them my Lord Tyrion.”

The butchers turned to look at Tyrion who stared at Sansa just as surprised as they were. Tyrion blinked, shook his head and turned to the two butchers.

“It seems my wife wants your dogs, and what is a husband if not the genie a wife rubs to have her wishes granted? How much do you want for the animals?”

“My Lord Lannister the pups are spoken for. They’re meant to be stuffed and mounted for King Joffrey’s wedding,” the butcher replied nervously twisting his hands in his dirty apron.

“No,” Sansa repeated firmly. "They are mine."

Tyrion glanced at Sansa then back at the butchers. “Has the work been paid for yet?”

“Well no, my Lord Lannister. The work was to be paid for upon completion.”

“What was the price agreed upon?”

“Ten silver stags."

"Ten silver stags for two scrawny dogs?" Bronn demanded incredulously, touching his sword as a warning against opportunistic greed.

The butcher drew back shielding his son behind his body. "They're part of a scene. There's is a lion - one pup was for the lion's mouth, the other for under his paws.”

“Here’s a gold dragon a piece.” Tyrion withdrew the coins from his money bag and flipped them through the air. The butcher jumped to catch them like a dog tossed a treat by its master.

“I know a little about the preparations for the king’s wedding,” Tyrion went on smiling ruefully. “I assure you, these two pups will not be missed.”

A single gold dragon was more than a poor man’s wages for a whole year. It was a ridiculous price to pay for a pair of hell hound puppies and solid proof that Sansa Stark was no good for Tyrion Lannister.

The butcher and his boy dropped to their knees in the dust in gratitude for Tyrion’s generosity. The imp could have had the two of them horse whipped till the skin was peeled from their backs and then taken the dogs since the animals had jumped on his lady wife.

 “Thank you lord Lannister! You are good to us sir!”

 “Thank you – bless you my lord! You’ve feed my family this winter!”

 “Thank my lady wife. She wants the wolves, not me,” Tyrion dismissed the men’s gratitude.

“May the Holy Mother goddess bless your wife to bring forth seven healthy sons Lord Lannister!” one of the men called out as Tyrion strode over to the horses where Shae was scowling next to Podrick.

Tyrion tried to talk to Shae, but she turned her back on him and flounced to Sansa's side to coo over the puppies. Bronn watched Tyrion's shoulders slump dejectedly, and shook his head.

That bitch had to go.

The butcher and his son kissed the hem of Sansa’s dress grateful to be paid and not punished. Sansa made them swear to never kill another dire wolf and they readily agreed. The party walked back to the leather workers and smiths for harnesses, collars and leashes for the dogs.

Tyrion and Bronn stood side by side, leaning against a wall watching Sansa put her new pets into the saddlebags of her horse to be carried back to the Red Keep while Podrick helped Shae to secure the bundles of goods Sansa had bought to the other horses.

If Podrick were half the rakehell Bronn was, then he would take advantage of Shae’s anger with Tyrion to fuck her for free - then repudiate her as a lying whore when Tyrion inevitably found out.

But Podrick would never think to do that. Squire Payne was the kind of sincere, hard working lad who usually died young for honor. Bronn trusted Payne as much as he did trusted Tyrion to guard his back in fight.

With Podrick’s loyalty, Bronn’s experience and Tyrion’s brains the three of them could go far together.

The women were the problem.

Shae promised Sansa to babysit the animals so the mischievous little beast would not chew up everything in the Lannister couple’s rooms.

Then Shae told Tyrion in an undertone she was not going to put up with watching her _faithless lover_ play nice with his _little wife_ anymore.

Shae was a jealous fool. She had forgotten she was Tyrion’s _whore_ , not Tyrion’s _wife_. Like Bronn was Tyrion’s _assassin_ not Tyrion’s _bother_.

Bronn knew if it came down to it; Tyrion would choose Ser Jamie over him. Just as Tyrion was choosing Lady Sansa over Shae.

Tyrion treated Bronn and Shae better than other noble lords would, but that did not make Bronn or Shae any less _disposable_. Ten would rush to serve in their place before their bodies hit the floor.

Bronn would not be sorry to see the back of Shae. So close to the fulfillment of all the dreams Bronn had never dared hope before; Shae’s drama was a distraction Bronn would not allow Tyrion to have.

On a boat to Braavos or into a shallow grave Shae was leaving their company never to return before they set sail. As far as Bronn was concerned Sansa could go to hell too, if she did not get her act together.

Bronn and Tyrion watched Podrick and Shae clip clop back to the Red Keep leading pack horses as Sansa approached them with a beaming smile on her face.

"Had enough for today?" Sir Blackwater asked his glum employer. “Or do you still want to go party at the dragon pit after the noon day prayers?”

 “Knowing my luck, Sansa would find a dragon egg.”

“And I bet you would let her hatch it.”

“Probably…I’d trade my sister for a dragon’s egg,” Tyrion said wistfully.

“You'd trade your sister for a _chicken_ egg.”

"True...which makes Stannis Baratheon possibly the dumbest man alive."

"He's stubborn as a tree stump, but I wouldn't call him dumb," Bronn said. "He is a hell of a field commander."

"He is a blacksmith's hammer in a world that needs tweezers."

"We need tweezers?" Sansa asked coming to join them. "You should have said something sooner."

"We are talking about Lord Stannis," Bronn told her.

Sansa frowned, she looked from Tyrion to Bronn. "Why do we care if Lord Stannis needs tweezers?"

"No, no my dear. It's a metaphor - I was telling Bronn, Lord Stannis is blunt as a hammer when he needs to have patience and parse fine details like a pair of tweezers," Tyrion explained.

"What detail did Lord Stannis miss that would have helped him win the battle of Blackwater Bay?" Sansa wanted to know.

"He completely missed the fact he did not need to fight for the throne at all," Tyrion said ruefully.

"What? You would have let Lord Stannis have the Seven Kingdoms if he had just asked nicely?" Bronn asked raising his eyebrows.

"When Stannis attacked Blackwater Bay the odds of a Lannister victory were so small - my father sent a falcon giving me permission to sell Cersei in marriage for peace. In exchange Cersei's next child would be heir to the Iron Throne, my father would remain Lord of Casterly Rock and all Lannister banner men would get amnesty for their actions."

 "You mean Stannis could have become King of the Seven Kingdoms without killing anyone?" Sansa said amazed.

"Had he answered my first raven, Stannis might have saved your father's neck...let that be a lesson to you my dear. Listen twice, act once."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading and reviewing my writing!


	4. Chapter 4

Born the least son of the greatest warlord and richest house in Westeros Tyrion Lannister had a child of privilege ironic disdain for the nobility. Tyrion knew from personal observation, wearing a crown did not make his sister, Queen Cersei less of a bitch or her son King Joffrey less of a cunt.

When his father Tywin made Tyrion Hand of the King, he tried his best to live up to the honor. After hearing himself openly called a demon monkey who controlled king Joffrey like a puppet in a market square, after the riots when the hungry tore the fat High Septon to pieces and ate him -

Tyrion tried to learn the city and people his father sent him to govern in the hopes of fixing the underlying problems causing civil unrest. Hidden by a cloak, Tyrion had walked with Bronn on some of his evening patrols when the sellsword was still head of the city watch.

Tyrion listened to the hard luck stories of the downtrodden drowning their sorrows in the watered down ale of dirty taverns. He listened to the complaints of traders as they closed up their market stalls without making enough that day to buy meat and cheese. 

Tyrion listened from the shadows to the sullen guards charged with the people’s protection, to the tax collectors growing fat like ticks on a dying dog, to the sailors down at the docks who spoke of dragons, a white queen, and a vast grass sea full of blood thirsty horse riding savages. 

Tyrion listened to kidnapped farm girls turned into whores. He walked the dark corridors of the dungeons and listened to the laments of the imprisoned. He went the Sept of Baelor and heard from the Begging Brother, the wandering priest who took up arms to protect the peasants.

He listened to the spider Varys poison tipped whispers meant to light the fire of his ambitions - “A small man can cast a large shadow” - but all Tyrion heard was mocking. Varys served the mad king and the fat king. The kings were dead and Vary was still dispensing advice, but he was not telling anyone who he managed to survive everything unscathed. 

The people did not understand house politics. The people did not care about battle tactics. The people wanted safety, food, and enough gold in their pocket to buy the little luxuries that made life worth living. They did not care which of the five kings - all houses be damned - gave it to them. 

Then Tyrion slipped back into the castle and listened to his drunken sister tell him her pimply petulant brat was somehow in charge. Never mind the horde of seething humanity - angry, hungry, tired, poor - just outside the Red Keep’s walls. 

Joffrey was king, the king was in charge and there was nothing Tyrion need worry about. 

Tyrion did his best to serve and promote the honor of House Lannister. To defend the city from Stannis Baratheon’s invasion. To be an effective ruler as Hand of the King. To be a prudent diligent steward of the royal purse as Master of Coin. 

As thanks his father and sister gifted him with the hand of Sansa Stark - the frightened daughter of a noble house on the brink of utter ruin - and told him to be grateful. 

Sansa Stark was more than he deserved.

That was the day Tyrion shook hands with his inner devils and resolved to be the son his father Tywin had always claimed he wanted. 

Tyrion celebrated that life changing decision by getting drunk and telling his nephew, King Joffrey, a number of things best left unsaid - but since had not lost his head for his off the cuff remarks Tyrion was not going to worry about it. 

Tyrion thought he was the first person to wake in the forward cabin of the galley ship, Dawn Treader. He had slept deeply and peacefully for the first time in ages. He had dreamt of the time just after his first wife’s death he spent at sea on the ships of his uncle Captain Gerion Lannister.

Gerion was the reason Tyrion had not committed suicide when he found out his father killed his wife Tysha and unborn child. Gerion had suffered a similar loss. Tywin had Briony, Gerion’s wife, drowned while he was away on a voyage to Braavos allegedly for infidelity. Gerion knew better. Briony was common. Tywin was proud.

Gerion taught Tyrion the best revenge against Tywin was to make a mockery of the Lannister name by carousing like a scoundrel. When Tywin would force them to attend family dinners at Casterly Rock the two would get smashed on wine then sing lewd brothel songs loud and off key until they were ejected. Then they would visit whorehouses until they passed out.

Gerion taught Tyrion everything he knew about the sea, surviving tragedy and moving forward without forgetting or becoming bitter. Gerion told Tyrion about his mother Joanna - who everyone else feared to mention lest Tywin hear and grow enraged in his unending grief - about his beloved Briony and listened to Tyrion’s stories of his brief time with Tysha.

Captain Lannister hoped to make enough money off his trip to Essos trading for exotic luxury goods that he could buy three more ships and retire from sailing full time to be a merchant lord in Pentos or Braavos. He intended to take Tyrion on as his adopted son and business partner when he and his daughter Joy left Westeros. 

The captain had Tyrion and Joy rigorously tutored in navigation, commerce and languages in preparation for their new life in the free cities where women ran vast enterprises, and a clever man of learning was worth ten gallant swordsmen with strong backs to the discerning daughters of bankers and merchant princes.

Gerion did not take Tyrion and Joy on his last voyage to Essos because in winter, crossing the sea was a dangerous proposition. It proved a prudent precaution. Gerion was never seen or heard from again. 

Tyrion rolled off his bunk, stepped into his boots and quietly made his way out of the forward cabin trying and failing not to wake the men sleeping on straw stuffed pallets beneath rough horse blankets in rows on the floor. He need not have bothered.

These were all battle hardened men, down on their luck, hand picked by Bronn for their skill. They slept fully clothed, in their boots with their swords at hand. Several slitted their eyes open at the sound of his quiet steps, but did not move to stop Tyrion going to the cabin door. 

The story they were told was a half truth. Tyrion Lannister was a rich jealous ugly man with a new beautiful young wife. He wanted to hustle the girl home to his lands and lock her up safely in his tower keep until she was fat with child. They were being generously paid to protect the Lady Sansa Lannister and the rest of Tyrion's chattel goods during transport.

If all when well there was the possibility these knights without masters might find a permanent home serving the wealthy house of Lannister. Considering Bronn - who some of them knew personally and by now all knew by reputation - was made a knight while in Tyrion’s service these sellswords were eager to see the Lannister couple safely home. 

You could not swing a dead cat without hitting a comely red haired wench in the Riverlands they were so plentiful, but even in times of war and chaos the nobility was not in the habit of handing out knighthoods and lands to common sellswords. 

Among the men of war Ser Bronn Blackwater had pride of place. He slept with his body across the door to Sansa’ room. He made a nose like a snore to get Tyrion’s attention as he lifted the leather flap acting as a door. Bronn lifted his eyebrows in question at Tyrion leaving the cabin. 

“Need to piss,” Tyrion mouthed in silent reply. “Stay here. Guard her.”

Bronn nodded minutely closing his eyes. Bronn had his naked sword clutched to his chest like a lover, and a dagger hidden in the hand under the cloak acting as his pillow. Unless a water monster from Gerion’s stories rose from the bottom of the river, nothing would get to Sansa. Of all the men in the forward cabin, only Squire Payne was actually sleeping when Tyrion left the room.

Sansa was safe for now.


	5. Chapter 5

Brienne of Tarth found Sansa Stark Lannister in the garden near the wall overlooking the sea cliffs. The newest Lady Lannister was sitting on a stone bench beneath an arbor of blooming yellow and white roses. She was sitting sideways so she could watch the sun setting over Blackwater bay. 

Sansa wore a golden dress and her long hair was unbound and rippling with gently in the wind. With the dying light of day enhancing the fire in her hair and the youthful glow of her skin, Sansa Stark looked like an avatar of the burning Lord of Light Stannis Baratheon’s red witch worshiped. 

When she heard Brienne’s boots upon the gravel she stood up, and turned to face her. She kept her hands demurely clasped in front of her waist half hidden by the wide cuffs of her bell sleeves of her dress.

Brienne had seen enough war to notice the length of a blade moving beneath the rich gold brocade covering Sansa’s right arm as it was slowly unsheathed from a hidden wrist guard.

Catelyn Stark’s daughter was no longer the timid child her mother imagined. She had learned to carry concealed weapons, and Brienne could see from the resolve in her bright blue eyes she was prepared to defend herself.

“My Lady Stark,” Brienne came to a halt ten feet away from Sansa. She did not want to frighten the red haired girl into a foolish action. “Pardon me for interrupting you solitude, my name is Brienne of Tarth. May I beg a moment of your time?”

“You are Brienne of Tarth? My husband has mentioned you escorted his brother safely home from his captivity in the Riverlands. The Lannister family is grateful for your service.” Sansa curtsied to Brienne but did not drop her eyes. She watched Brienne warily. 

“Lady Sansa, Lady Catlyn charged me and Ser Jamie Lannister with your safe return to the bosom of your family. We will -”

“I am married to Lord Tyrion,” Sansa interrupted quickly. “My place is with my husband lord husband. The Lannisters are my family now.”

“Lady Sansa your loyalty to Lord Tyrion does you credit, but you are not safe in King’s Landing. I have heard stories of what you have suffered at the hands of King Joffrey. Please allow -”

“Rumors of my ill treatment are a pernicious falsehood circulated by cowardly slanderers. The Lannisters have shown me a depth of kindness I could not repay in a hundred life times. Please refrain from repeating lies about them in my presence.” 

Sansa’s eyes darted to the left and back to Brienne’s face. Brienne glanced to the side following Sansa’s eye and saw the recently knighted sellsword, Ser Blackwater. 

The dark haired man was easy to miss in the shade, but the polished gleam of a twin valerian steel boot daggers in his fist were bright even in the dim shadowy corner he haunted.

Unlike the Mountain or the Hound Clegane, Ser Blackwater did not look as sinister as his reputation made him out to be. He was a bearded military fit man, of average height. He wore a crimson leather jerkin instead of ringmail or armour.

Nothing in his appearance distinguished Ser Blackwater from any of the hundreds of men at arms Brienne had seen in her lifetime. Except...the flat look of indifference in his eyes. She had seen many men go into battle with fear or lust or excitement or anger or rage shining from their eyes. 

Ser Blackwater looked at Brienne the way a butcher looked at a cow meant for slaughter - like she was walking meat and he was deciding what hunk of flesh he should hack off first.

“Go on, Lady of Tarth.” Ser Blackwater moved to stand between Brienne and Sansa. “You were expressing concern for Lady Sansa’s safety in the capital.” 

“Is this man threatening you?” Brienne asked Sansa over Ser Blackwater’s shoulder touching the hilt of the sword at her side, ready to draw it from its scabbard.

Ser Blackwater widened his stance, and turned his body slightly to the side. He drew his fist up as if he meant to engage Brienne in a fist fight only each of his hands, dressed in leather fingerless gloves covered with fine metal mesh, was clenched around a dagger’s hilt. 

He might be as good as they said. He might have worked his way through Stannis Baratheon’s men like a reaper felling wheat swinging a sword in each hand, but he was still just a man. And Brienne had killed men before.

“Lady Brienne you are mistaken, this is Ser Bronn Blackwater. He is my husband’s sworn bannerman -”

“Sellsword-”

“Knight -”

“Fair enough.”

“My Lord Tyrion has charged Ser Blackwater with my safety and he takes his duties very seriously.”

“Specifically Tyrion pays me to kill people who look like they might disturb the peaceful disposition of his wife’s gentle nature with untoward things like mean gossip or attempted kidnapping. I’m burying all the bodies beneath the roses. The gardners say the flowers have never looked so fine.”

“So you see there is no cause to be concerned for my safety.”

“Lady Sansa I swore to Lady Catlyn I would -”

“When you last saw my mother and brother Robb...did they look to be in good health?”

“They were indeed in good health when I saw them last, if a little careworn with worry over you and your sister.”

“Then please set their minds at ease - I am quite content with my lord husband, and happy with my marriage.”

“Your husband, Lord Tyrion...he is a good man?”

“He is the best of men,” Sansa replied without hesitation, a warm smile stretching her lips. “I think... my father would have approved of him.”

Brienne nodded to herself. “When I return to the north are their any messages you would like me to convey to your family?”

“Kindly express my heartfelt thanks for her concern, my fervent prayers for Arya’s safety and convey my sincere hope she and my brother Robb will lay down their arms and submit to the king’s justice as all loyal, obedient servants of the realm must do.” 

“Thank you for your time Lady Sansa, enjoy your evening.”

“Thank you for taking the time to visit with me Lady Brienne.” 

“And when you deliver that message to Catelyn Stark, be sure to sketch the look on her face. I haven’t had a good laugh ages,” Ser Blackwater called after Brienne as she bowed and turned away.

Brienne walked away a little ways, stepped off the garden path into the soft grass and doubled back so she could hear the voices of Lady Sansa and Ser Bronn drifting out of the rose arbor.

“Bronn! That was so rude, you almost put me to the blush!”

“My apologies Lady Lannister. Forgive your humble servant for having a sense of humor in your hallowed presence.”

“If I weren’t a lady I’d kick your shin, sir.”

“If you did, I’d kick you back and my boots are steel toed and hobnailed thanks to you.”

“Tyrion pays you to protect me!”

“Aye he does, but he doesn’t pay me to suffer your abuse Lady Lannister.”

“Well stop being rude and I won’t be tempted to abuse you. Honestly Bronn! You’re worst than my little sister and she’s only nine! You’re a knight now. You’re supposed to be chivalrous and gallant.”

“I’ll be chivalrous if you can spell it.”

“I can spell chivalrous: s-h-i-v-a-r -”

“Wrong. It’s spelt: C-h-i-v-a-r-l-r-o-u-s.”

“Are you sure that’s right? I thought there was an S in chivalrous, like shiver?”

“It’s a C.”

“How do you know?”

“Your little husband’s been teaching me and Pod to read and figure like gentlemen. Apparently ignorant servants are bad for his image.”

“Bronn, Tyrion doesn’t think of you and Podrick as servants. He considers you both his friends.”

“Friends he pays.”

“It’s the Lannister thing to do. Tyrion told me in the market he’s gotten more gold dragons from his father than hugs, so he must really like you and Podrick. Alot. Don't tell him I said that, but I thought you should know.”

Bronn sighed. “I really hope you’re in this both with feet and up to your neck like me and Pod Lady Sansa, because your husband - he’s a tough nut, but he really needs you. He needs you more than he knows.” 

“I know Bronn...I know.”


	6. Chapter 6

The Maester brought a raven delivered scroll from Queen Cersei at lunch time. It was an official invitation to King Joffrey’s wedding to Margaery Tyrell. Their marriage had not yet taken place, but the invitation was for Petyr Baelish and his wife Lysa Arryn-Baelish.

If Littlefinger did not know the Queen to be a selfish women of schemes and arrogance, he might have been flattered Cersei assumed his attempts to court Lady Arryn would be successful.

However he knew the Queen did not mean the invitation as a compliment, she simply took it for granted that whatever she ordered - no matter how outlandish or unreasonable - would be accomplished by her dutiful minions without fail. 

Marry a King? 

Easy ask her father. Tywin pillaged King’s Landing. His pet monster, the Mountain butchered the royal family - even the children- like animals, to put Robert Baratheon in his debt and make marriage to his spoilt daughter sound reasonable.

Spitefully cuckold the king because the poor man grieved for a women who had actually loved him? 

Easy ask her brother. The royal children looked nothing like any Baratheon living or dead. It was so obvious, Petyr Baelish often had to bite his tongue to keep from laughing in the Queen’s face.

Put her bastard on the throne and rule in his name?

Easy ask her father and her brother to kill Ned Stark, raze the Riverlands, make war with the North and the Stormlands, alienate the Vale, run up a debt even the Lannister’s would have trouble paying - no matter the cost, Queen Cersei got her way. 

The queen expected Petyr to come running at her summons to pay homage as her little blonde bastard pledged his life to the whore of thrones. Peter was amused. He would go to King’s Landing, not to bow down to Joffrey, but to rescue Sansa. In his own good time.

For a few days Littlefinger entertained himself thinking of how he would word his fuck-off to Cersei in a manner polite enough to not rouse animosity when a raven arrived from the capital from the Queen of Thorns.

Tyrion Lannister and his new bride Sansa Stark had left the capital with Tywin’s blessing. The couple was to honeymoon at Casterly Rock for a few months, then visit the Lannister’s major holdings at Lannisport, the Crag, Silverhill and perhaps Goldentooth if the fighting subsided. 

Kevan Lannister and his son Lancel had departed for Casterly Rock the same day. With Sansa gone, and her immediate return unlikely, the Queen of Thrones was concerned about the plan.   
Littlefinger was concerned about the plan. 

Tyrion Lannister was a clever man, but not cunning. A man of cunning would have loaded ships with Sansa Stark and all the gold in the city. A cunning man would have sailed for Pentos under cover of chaos while Stannis Baratheon sacked King’s Landing. 

Robb Stark would never have believed Stannis did not kill his sister while murdering Cersei and her children. Robb would have killed Stannis, then been killed by Tywin. Or Tywin would have killed Stannis then been killed by Robb. 

Either way Tyrion could have lived happily ever after in Pentos or Braavos without anyone ever coming after him. Instead Tyrion chose to stand his ground and fight, using a clever strategy that held Stannis at bay long enough for Tywin to ride the rescue.

Baelish’s sources told him Tyrion had almost been killed, and his family did not seem to care. 

The youngest Lannister Lion was clearly damaged by his upbringing the same way whores who were charming and intelligent women would be utterly loyal to the brothel keepers who abused them and sold their bodies.

It was unlikely Tyrion had spontaneously developed the commonsense necessary to cut his losses and abandon King’s Landing with his new wife and all the gold he could carry. It was more likely Varys was thinking for Tyrion. Plotting against Littlefinger. 

Well two could play that game.

While composing a response to the Queen of Thrones, Petyr Baelish began planning how he too would become an intimate friend and confidante of the new Lord and Lady Lannister.


	7. Chapter 7

The brilliant light of morning, after the darkness of the forward cabin made Squire Payne blink stupidly and rub his smarting eyes with the back of his hand. He was careful not to let the little wolf puppies tugging on their chain have too much slack, they had almost escaped him at the harbor. 

He stepped aside quickly so that he was not blocking the door. Bronn led the sells-swords he recruited in King’s Landing out onto the deck of the galleon. 

They emerged from the cabin shielding their eyes against the sun, bumping shoulders in violent companionship and grumbling good naturedly at each other. 

The handmaid scurried after them to fetch breakfast for Lord and Lady Lannister.

Lord Tyrion had gone into his wife’s cabin, and he did not want anyone eavesdropping at the keyhole.

Podrick turned his head embarrassed at the casual vulgarity of Bronn and the other soldiers when they lined up along the railing of the boat to piss over the edge into the river. Podrick was not bashful. He was raised in a castle, and taught to behave at all times as if a Lady where watching.

The swordmen’s behavior did disgust the sailors busy rolling rope into coils, hauling equipment Podrick could not name and raising the sails. The white canvas rippled like a giant sheet shook open before the wind pulled it into a smooth curve.

The first mate even went over and joined the pissing contest. Of course Bronn Blackwater was declared the winner with back slapping congratulations. 

It was disgusting. They had not even wiped their hands first. 

With a gentle tug Squire Payne lead his two fuzzy charges to the back of the boat where Captain Jahncke had said the animals could relieve themselves in a corner. When they were done, he tied them to the rail a little ways off to keep them out of the way. 

He lowered the bucket on a rope - the captain had put there for his use - raised it ups full and rinsed the dog’s mess away with a splash of water. Then Podrick took care of his own full bladder, rinsed his hands and lead the dogs back inside the forward cabin. 

One by one Podrick lifted the wolf pups and gently set them back inside their straw lined wooden crate. He gently unhooked their collar harness from around their little bodies and stuffed them back into the burlap sack beside the crate with the rest of the dogs brushes, chains, and gear.

The puppies rooted in the mounds of straw with their noses sniffing for something they did not find. They mouthed at each other, nipping at ears and tails. They swiped paws at each other. Then one knocked the other over and they tumbled like drunken wrestlers in the straw. 

Podrick leaned on the edge of the wooden box and dangled his fingers over the two dogs to get their attention and get them to stop biting at each other.

“Please don’t do that,” Lady Lannister commanded with quiet authority that made Podrick jump like a child caught stealing sweets. 

Lady Lannister came out of her cabin with her Lord following, almost stepping on the train of her grey traveling gown edged in fine crimson thread at the sleeves and square throat. She wore a veil of fine grey lace over her face held in place by a plain circlet of beaten silver like her wide belt.

Lady Sansa came to stand beside Podrick looking down at the wolf pups in the crate. As the squire quickly to a step back and stood to attention with his hands behind his back he noticed his Lord’s wife was almost his height, and at least as tall as Bronn Blackwater.

“I’m sorry milady, I was trying to distract them from fighting with each other.” Squire Payne looked at his feet and the hem of the lady’s dress rather than at her face. 

“They aren’t fighting squire Payne,” Sansa disagreed. “They are trying to establish which of them will be the dominate of their little pack of two.”

“Isn’t always the biggest male who ends up the alpha?” Tyrion asked with raised eyebrows. 

“It’s not the size of the dog in the fight, it’s the size of the fight in the dog that matters most my lord husband. My father’s wolf Shadowmark was the smallest of his litter, but he killed a bear by himself to save my father’s life.”

She leaned over the rough pen that housed her pets to pluck them up one at a time for a cuddle beneath her her chin. She held them out for Tyrion to pet, then placed them gently back into the straw. They whined piteously with their front paws on the side of the box as she withdrew.

“It’s best to let them get on with it Squire Payne before they get big enough to seriously hurt each other. Now if you put your fingers in their space before they’ve been fed you will be bitten and I do not want to train them to associate human flesh with hunger. Did you walk them?”

“Yes milady.”

“Thank you Squire Payne. Please don’t feed them, I will handle that myself when I return. My lord husband has kindly promised to show me all around this lovely boat and share some of his sailing knowledge with me,” Sansa said smiling at Tyrion.

“Ship, my lady,” Tyrion corrected automatically, then cleared his throat self consciously when both Podrick and Sansa looked at him confused. “The Dawn Treader is a ship.”

“Is it my lord?” Sansa asked tilting her head in polite curiosity. “I thought all water vessels were called boats milord, am I mistaken?”

“Yes, my lady. It is a matter of size: generally speaking ships are large enough to carry boats. Since this galley has two long boats it is considered a ship.” 

“Thank you for correcting me Lord Tyrion.” Lady Sansa bent over and kissed the top of Tyrion’s curly blonde head. “I am grateful I can rely upon your vast wisdom my husband to correct the deficiencies of my education.”

“You may rely upon me gentle wife, as I rely upon the warmth of your affection to curb my unseemly habits, and together our house shall surely prosper.” 

Tyrion and Sansa shared a warm smile that spoke volumes Podrick could not decipher. The tender moment was broken like a wash tub soap bubble when Bronn Blackwater coughed loudly. 

The Lannister couple and Squire Payne looked up to find they had an audience: the captain, Bronn, the handmaid burdened with two cloth covered trays of food and a cabin boy with a tin pail of frothy ale and a bottle of wine under one arm all stood in the doorway watching the tableau.

“Please excuse me Lord and Lady Lannister,” Bronn said smirking. He leaned against the doorway on shoulder, arms crossed over his chest. “For intruding upon a tender moment between the newly wed.”

“What is it Ser Bronn,” Tyrion asked with a sigh.

“I was wondering if you wished for me and Pod to escort you and your lady on your stroll about the ship’s deck?”

“Of course!” Tyrion declared as if it were absurd for Bronn to think otherwise. “Nothing is more precious to me than my Lady’s safety and happiness.” 

Tyrion took one of Sansa’s long fingered white hands, the one with the silver wolf’s head ring and kissed the knuckles tenderly. Sansa simpered like a besotted maid.

“My lord, you take such excellent care of me,” she gushed as she allowed the dwarf to lead her by the hand out the door with Bronn Blackwater and Captain Jahncke following behind them.

“I never say a couple so oddly matched and so in love, gives a lonely heart hope doesn’t it?” the cabin boy said to Podrick and the handmaid as they watched the Lannister couple.

“How do you mean?” Podrick asked.

“Well, if a dwarf can win the heart of a lady fair as that, then there’s hope for every man inn’t?” the cabin boy replied with certainty. 

“Truer words was never spoken,” said Kuthe sagely. “It’s the mother’s mercy, to make up for his deformity, and the father’s mercy to make up for her father being a traitor that they’ve found love in each other. It’s a sign.”

“A sign of what?” Podrick asked.

“The gods will. If a dog and a cat what is enemies by nature’s design can find peace and happiness in marriage, well there’ll be peace in the Seven Kingdoms for generations to come,” Kuthe said with the certainty of religious conviction. “Mark my words it’s a sign boy. It’s a sign.”

The two servants set about tidying the two cabins; rearranging the furniture from sleeping quarters to dining hall and setting out the food they had brought up from the scullery below decks. Podrick turned his attention back to his Lord and Lady.

He was not the only person watching. All activity on deck was suspended while the Lannisters promenaded from bow to stem, from port to beam. He lost sight of them when they went up onto the quarterdeck but they came back down laughing about Sansa’s efforts to control the tiller. 

Sansa admired all the rope and tools Tyrion pointed out attentively. She circled round the base of the mast watching with admiration as the imp slipped of his boots and scrambled up the rigging like a monkey to the top of the main halyard and clapped when he sung down safely.

Tyrion held Sansa by the waist to steady her as she balanced herself on shoulders of the mermaid figurehead with her arms out stretched. She laughed like a child, her veil and skirts whipping in the wind like the tail of a kite in the wind. 

The captain finally snapped out of the spell and shouted at his men to get back to work. The sellswords came into to eat their breakfast.

They returned to the cabin hand in hand, all smiles. The passed by the bannermen seated at the table without a glance, lost in their private world of whispers and quite laughter. They went into the back the back cabin alone and closed the door behind them.

“Young love,” Kuthe sighed.

Bronn snorted and rolled his eyes as he plopped down on a bench and tore into the boiled mutton, bread and cheese. Podrick shook his head and joined him.


	8. Chapter 8

“Walder Frey was a nasty, miserly, lecherous man,” Tyrion noted. 

“Indeed my Lord husband, few will miss him in the Riverlands, but even Lord Frey had a some redeeming qualities.”

“Where did you see good in that human maggot with the heart of a rat?” Tyrion asked incredulously. 

“You must admit my Lord Tyrion, Lord Walder had excellent taste and he maintained his possessions like a childless widow with a army of servants .”

Tyrion looked around, taking in the rich furnishings of Lord Walder Frey’s private apartment and chuckling, conceded his lady was as always correct in her opinion. 

The solar was vast: the entire top floor of one tower keep with a stair up to the roof and arrow slit windows set into the walls every few feet marked with the hours of the day like a sun dial for ventilation. 

The torch holders and the reflecting plates behind the flame were polished silver. The mantle pieces of the two massive fireplaces were white marble flecked with gold and topped with massive gilt framed mirrors.

The massive curtained four poster bed, desk, tables, benches and scrolled reclining sofa were exquisitely carved golden oak inlaid with mother of pearl. Tapestries portraying blooming garden scenes in vivid colors hung between the windows, and plush rugs carpet the cold stone floor.

Sansa intended to have the room stripped bare and packed up for her trip north. Everything except the bed linens, mattress and chair cushions. All those fabric used by Lord Frey and is dozens of wives had already been burned in a pyre with the bodies.

Lady Sansa Stark-Lannister sat on upon a heavy wooden chair with a velvet cushion, and gilded with bright gold leaf like a throne. Her husband, Lord Tyrion Lannister, stood upon a stool behind Sansa running a boar bristled silver brush down her long auburn hair in long soothing strokes.

She was dressed in a sleeping shift of almost weightless cream colored silk embroidered with gold thread and a damask dressing gown lined with silvery seal fur heavy enough to be a tapestry. Tyrion was dressed in his black leather jerkin embroidered with a lion and wolf over his heart, pants and boots. He refused to undress or sleep with Catelyn in the room. 

She was knitting with yarn of the lightest cashmere yarn, her long thin ivory needles chattering like the teeth of man shivering on the Wall. Sansa kept her head slightly bent, feigning interest in her work, but in reality watching her mother in the reflection of the looking glass beside the fireplace.

Behind her and Tyrion, on the other side of the curtained four poster bed Catelyn Stark was restlessly pacing. She picked up and put down jewels, furs, bolts of cloth, gold plate, glassware and other trinkets overflowing from the open trunks of things Sansa had bought on her last day in King’s Landing. 

This was the closest Catelyn Stark had come to being alone with her eldest daughter since the the excitement of the aborted Tully-Frey wedding.

Finally lady Catlyn gave up all pretense, “Lord Tyrion I’d like a moment alone with my daughter...Please.”

“People in hell want ice water,” Tyrion replied mildly without missing a stroke. “What every you have to say to my wife, you can say with me present or not at all Lady Catlyn.”

“Sansa is my daughter.”

“Sansa is my wife.”

“Sansa is sitting right here,” Sansa said sweetly. “I am a person, not a door post. Talk to me, not at me or over me please.”

Tyrion sighed heavily, and kissed one of her damask covered shoulders before resuming his brushing. “You are as always correct my dove. Forgive me, I meant no offense.”

“Think nothing of it my Lion...What did you want to tell me mother?”

Sansa watched her mother stare at the back of her head as if she were trying to see inside. 

“Sansa you father meant for Robb to be Lord of Winterfell after him.”

“Father is dead,” Sansa replied with finality. “What he wanted or intended is of no consequence now.”

“Robb should be grateful to still have his wife and his life,” Tyrion muttered.

“Grateful to the Lannisters?” Catelyn snapped angrily. “The people who killed my husband -”

“Grateful to me, the man who saved your daughter!” Tyrion replied testily. “I saved your entire family - I didn’t have too. A little gratitude would not be amiss.”

“I am grateful for all of us,” Sansa replied quickly. She turned in her chair, abandoning her knitting to the floor, she cupped Tyrion’s cheek’s in her soft hands turning him to face her. “My family will be as well, you must give them time my loin they don’t know how good you’ve been to us -”

“Oh yes,” Cathlyn said sarcastically. “I am grateful the Lannister’s turned my father’s bannerman against us. I am grateful the Lannister’s turned my husband’s bannerman against us. I am grateful the Lannister’s turned my own DAUGHTER against us -”

Tyrion jerked around and jumped off the stool. He strode across to face Catlyn toe to toe, and although he had to look up at her, he seemed to loom over her menacingly. 

“Walder Frey has never been loyal to the Tully’s a day in his life! That’s why your father called him the late Walder Frey! Bolton is a sadist from a family of sadist who skin people alive for entertainment! It’s on their sigil for faith’s sake! Greyjoy is the son of a reaver, a pillaging rapist you left him in charge of your children at Winterfell! Baelish has BRAGGED to anyone who’ll listen he took your maidenhead for YEARS. These are the men you trusted -” 

“Tyrion -” Sansa called out urgently. She sprang to her feet and rushed to her husband.

“Yet you blame me for your downfall? You are a fool Catelyn Tully, a hateful blind fool who almost brought down 8,000 years of Stark rule with -”

Catelyn Tully raised her hand to strike Tyrion across the face but Sansa caught her wrist in a clinched fist. Her nails dug into her mother’s forearm drawing blood.

“You’re hurting me Sansa.”

“Am I?” Sansa asked calmly standing tall, looking her mother in the eye with winter cold judgement of a Stark she wolf. “Does it hurt as much as watching father confessing to treason and being beheaded? Being nearly rapped by a dozen men in a riot? Being stripped naked and beaten before the court by gold cloaks? Does it hurt as much as this?” 

Sansa turned her mother’s hand over, displaying the cross palm scar left by the assassin who tried kill Bran. 

“Who told you -”

“Robb, his wife, Tyrion, and I had a long talk yesterday. You both have acted very foolishly,” Sansa told her mother. “He’s not happy with his new situation, but he’ll learn to live with the disappointment. I strongly suggest you encourage Robb to satisfied with his lot in life.”

Sansa dropped her mother’s arm and returned to her chair. She picked up her knitting and continued with her work. Tyrion looked Lady Catlyn up and down as if she were an idiot servant he could not fire because Sansa liked her, then picked up the brush and went back to his wife’s hair.

“Tyrion has legitimized Jon and declared he shall be heir of our dominions in the North until I bare a son. Rickon will be our heir in the Riverlands. That is our will. End of discussion.” 

Catlyn supposed now she was. She was the dowager Lady of Winterfell, daughter of the defunct house of Tully, sister of the mad-Vale regent, mother of the young wolf without fangs, a passel of wolf pups and one bitch daughter.

Her daughter was Lady of Winterfell by the king’s proclamation and Lady of the Riverlands by right of her husband Tyrion’s conquest. If the maps on the table were any indication the Stark Lannisters intended to conquer the Iron Islands as soon as their armies crossed the neck.

“Sansa how can you do this to your brother?”

“He did it to himself,” Tyrion snapped. “He chose to trust Greyjoy to guard Winterfell. Gods know what would have happened if Jon and Ramsey had not saved them. He chose to break his marriage pact to marry for love. Frey intended to murder you at that wedding for that - all of you!”

“Tyrion you are pulling my hair.”

“I’m sorry my dove -”

“He’s young!” Catlyn pleaded. “He’ll learn -”

“Robb is too much like father. To trusting. To honorable. To honest. While we wait for him to learn wisdom we’ll be murdered in our sleep, and winter is coming. Is Winterfell ready mother? How much grain is laid up in the stores? Is it enough to last for years of cold and darkness?”

“What?” Catelyn asked rubbing her bloody forearm, confused by the abrupt change of subject.

“Winter. Is. Coming. A long dark night - perhaps as long as this summer has lasted. Is the north ready?”

“How should I know? I haven’t been home in months!”

 

“It is your duty as Lady of Winterfell to know if the people of the north will starve to death when the snow flies, not traipse across the seven kingdoms holding Robb’s hand while he fumbles a war he could have easily won -”

“Enough my Lord,” Sansa said with finality. “We are family now, and a house divided shall not stand. There will be no more fighting amongst us.”

“Of course my dove. We are as ever of one mind.”

“Mother, the Riverlands are your home. These are your people. You know these lands. Tell me now that the West and North have burned and pillaged everything from the neck to Harrenhal what will happen to the small folk? Are they ready for a long winter?”

There was nothing Catlyn could say to answer Sansa’s question. She had seen corpses stacked like cordwood as high as young trees. Fields of ripe grain burned or trampled into the mud. Villages sacked, livestock slaughter not for meat, but to starve the populace. 

“This is the second time in a generation the North as fought a war in the Riverlands Lady Catlyn. When the next war breaks out, I don’t think the North will be able to muster much support here.”

“The next war?”

“Didn’t father tell you when you came to King’s Landing and did not take me and Arya back to the North with you?” Sansa asked. “There is a Targaryen Queen in the east. She’s married a Dothraki warlord with an army of thirty thousand riders and she has hatched three dragons.”

“Mother have mercy,” Catlyn moaned stumbling to sit on the end of the bed.


	9. Chapter 9

Lord Tyrion Lannister was walking beneath the arched breezeway near the foot of the stairs that lead to the Master of Coin’s rooms when Lord Vary’s stepped out of a shadow dark doorway.

“You are a pleasant contradiction Lord Tyrion.”

“How so?”

“You have your father’s ruthless instinct for political games, yet you also have compassion enough to spare an unlucky girl the trauma of marital rape.”

“I can hardly take credit for possessing some ability to govern effectively. It would be like a baby congratulating himself for liking milk. As for my wife...She is only a child, and despite what people may say: I am not a monster.”

“I find it ironic. Lord Tywin considers you the least of his children yet you have done more for the Lannister name than Jaime, Cersei and all her children combined. Tell me Lord Tyrion, without you quietly toiling in the shadows how long do you think the Lannisters will continue to prosper?”

“I imagine we are having this conversation because you have somehow gotten wind of my plans. Since that is the case you must know I truly do not give a damn what becomes of them in my absence. My father is Hand of the King and Lord of the Rock. I am nothing to him. I am content to let the future of Lannister be his problem.”

“You are quite good at ruling you know. I’m impressed by what you have managed to accomplish during your brief tenure as Hand of the King and Master of Coin. You’ve managed to pull almost all of Baelish’s weeds from the garden of government and reduced the crown’s debt by more than half. Left in your hands for another two years the realm would have become truly prosperous.”

“I was just a servant sent to do the dirty work. I had the pleasure of untangling 17 years of Jon Arryn's honorable negligence and Petyr Baelish’s rampant embezzlement while father got all the credit for saving the Seven Kingdoms from ruin. Sansa and this,” Tyrion gestured to his face. “Were my reward. Clearly my services are neither needed nor desired in this court.”

“The scar gives your otherwise bland face roguish character and Sansa Stark is the beautiful, intelligent, gracious, heiress of Winterfell: hardly a prize for the second place winner.”

“Sansa is ten years too young to suit my taste and the third of Ned Stark’s children. The second if you only count the trueborn, but I think the men of the North would be quick to count Jon Snow if I ever attempted to rule in Sansa’s name.”

“Sansa Stark is the first of Ned Stark’s trueborn children if you count the months.”

“What are you saying Varys?”

“Petyr Baelish told Ned Stark Cersei’s children were bastards. Instead of going to Robert Baratheon with his suspicions, he went to your sweet sister. Stark offered her mercy: the opportunity to flee the capital and the king’s justice with her children and her life.”

“I can not believe he expected Cersei to go running to our father instead of killing Robert and crowning Joffrey. Jaime and Cersei are both Kingslayers. Twins in every way. Why would Stark do something so utterly foolish?”

“I too wondered why Eddard Stark, the rigid man of honor, would have pity on Cersei. Then I did the math: Jon Snow and Robb Stark are the same age. Born a few days apart.”

“Robb Stark could not look more like his father if he tried. There is no way he’s a bastard.”

“Robb Stark looks like a Stark: I am told you have seen both Eddard and his brother Benjen standing side by side. Tell me which brother does Robb favor more? Ned or Ben?”

“Catelyn Tully and Benjen Stark? The two most frigid, uptight moralist in the North had a tryst and passed their bastard off as Eddard’s son? What you’re suggesting is the most improbable -”

“Unless Ned Stark could fly, Robb Stark is a month too young to be his son. He was in the Stormlands saving Stannis from siege when Robb was conceived, his brother Benjen was at Riverrun - part of the group of Northmen guarding the new Lady Stark.”

“That would explain why he joined the Night’s Watch when Eddard returned from fighting for Robert Baratheon’s throne, and why Catelyn hates Jon Snow so much,” Tyrion said almost to himself.

“I understand you sold documents of legitimacy signed by King Joffrey and the Regent Queen to several wealthy bastards during your time as King’s Hand. If you happen to have any more blank certificates, you might find Jon Stark amenable to allowing you to rule in his and Sansa’s name.”

“You say that as if I want to rule the North. Have you ever been north of the neck Lord Varys? I have. I have gone to the Wall and back: it is a vast cold land, full of an cold proud people I would not want to drink with even if they had all the wine in Westeros.”

“What about the Riverlands? I understand you spent some of your youth in the care of your aunt Genna Frey in the verdant Kingdom of Isles and Rivers. Would you turn down being Lord of the Trident while your wife and heir ruled the North in your name?”

“How would that even be possible? I’m not -”

“Your aunt is a Frey by marriage. Your wife is a granddaughter of Tully, who looks more Tully than Stark. With your crafty cleverness I am sure you can knit together a legitimate claim to Riverrun from the tattered remains of those two old families with the backing of your father’s and your brother-in laws armies.”

“I'll present the armies of the North and West a bushel of rose petals and declare in a voice ringing with glad tidings: _Peace upon all lands and victory to all armies in the name of Joffrey our true king, and for the sake Sansa Stark my one true love_  . Then everyone will dance hand in hand, wine will flow like water, the gods will rain down gold from heaven and whores will joyously part their legs for free.”

“Stranger things have happened.”

“Like what? Name something less probable than your far fetched vision of a dwarf Lannister ruling the North and the Rivers?”

“House Targaryen rule Westeros for 300 years with fire, blood and madness. The entire family never numbered more than twenty people at any given time including all their bastards. No one ever thought to simply poison them and their monsters during a feast.”

“I am sure plenty of people thought it, but no one was willing to be so dishonorable as to do it.”

“Plenty of people will question your right to rule the North and the Rivers, but no one will be so foolish as to actually challenge your rule once all the costs of war are counted and the bodies buried. Time lends a veneer of legitimacy to all ruling houses. No matter how they came to their throne.”

“I can think of ten men who would be better candidates for this fool’s errand.”

“None of the ten men you could name would be married to Sansa Stark, a son of Tywin Lannister and half as capable of ruling successfully as you are.”

“Why me? You could have saved Eddard Stark or even the Targaryens and prevented all these wars from ever happening.”

“It was not my fault Ned Stark and the Targaryens were determined to die - weather driven by inflexible honor or inescapable madness they could not change their nature enough to survive. You are extremely adaptable: you cling to life with the tenacity of a barnacle on a ship’s hull.”

Tyrion laughed without humor, and looked down at his boots frowning. “Funny you should say that. My father once told me, when I was born he wanted to carry me into the sea and let the tides carry me away like the filth from the sewers,” he said bitterly.

Varys, with his soft hands tucked into the draping sleeves of his robes leaned forward to whisper in Tyrion’s ear seductively.

“With a bit of luck any baby can be born beautiful and healthy. Any thief can steal a fortune in gold and run away with his lover. Lord Tyrion you have the rare opportunity use to talents to earn respect that has nothing to do with your family name, to win the love of the small folk by saving them from war and starvation, to raise an army that inspires fear in the other high Lords. To be a man even greater than your father Lord Tywin -”

“Tyrion!” Jaime Lannister called out to his younger brother smiling broadly. “Good morrow brother! Lord Varys. Well met.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story comes from chapter two of The Lords of Lannister Have a Heart to Heart.


	10. Chapter 10

Sansa Lannister nee Stark knew the Lady Joanna died birthing her husband, Tyrion Lannister. Although she knew Lord Tywin never remarried, but Sansa had never wondered who had reared the heirs of Casterly Rock while their lord father was the King’s Hand or off fighting wars.

The question Sansa never thought to ask was answered the moment she laid eyes on the stern countenance of Lady Genna Frey. Her rigid posture could have judged the straightness of walls and found them lacking.

Her visit was unexpected, an out rider had announced her coming only an hour hence.

She was tall with a smooth long face well north of young and but still south of old. She had a strong profile that favored Lord Tywin. Her golden hair half covered by a black veil, twisted around her head in a crown of braids studded with jeweled pins, outshone queen Cersei’s gilt mane.

Her voluptuous figure had gone a bit fat, but she was clearly still proud of her ample bosom which rose in two pale hills above the scoop of her crimson gown embroidered with gold lions at the necks, and hem line.

“Lady Genna,” Tyrion hurried forward to meet his aunt as she descended from her massive wheel-house with the aid of two handmaids. He took one of her heavily ringed, fat dimpled hands and kissed it. Sansa thought Genna’s hands looked like Tyrion’s only larger.

“I hope you are well, aunt?” Tyrion asked solicitously as he escorted her to where Sansa stood waiting at the top of the steps that lead up to Riverrun’s main hall.

Genna returned Tyrion’s affection with a fond smile while she ran her thick fingers through his wind ruffled blonde hair.

“I am as well as can be for a widow with two dead sons,” the woman replied with a bosom heaving sigh. “Emmon and Cleos were no great loss, but I was very fond of my darling Tion. I had hopes for that boy.”

Sansa bit her lip. She had thought the veil that covered the Lady Genna’s golden hair was a fashion of Casterly Rock. She had not though the lady might be in mourning since her gown was so brilliantly red and she wore a prince’s ransom in gold and jewels.

Sansa looked around the courtyard with new eyes and noticed almost all of the ladies in waiting she saw come out of the wheel house after Genna wore either black ribbons in their hair or black veils covering half their head like a sheer hood.

It was dismaying to see the effect her brother’s victories. It would be difficult to make lasting peace with so many families affected by war, but Sansa was determined and her husband fully supported her ambitions.

“I swear on the Warrior’s Sword, If they can be found, I will bring your son’s bones home to be buried in the vaults with our forefathers,” Tyrion promised solemnly.

“You are a good boy, Tyrion. I know you will do your best, but when we live in the Shadow of the Stranger the only thing certain _is the crows shall feast while the widows get drunk on tears and orphans starve_ ,” the Lady Frey preached piously quoting the Seven-Pointed Star.

Tyrion held his aunt’s hand as she ascended the steps to be presented to Sansa. Ever since his unexpected good fortune - peaceably ending the war by capturing the commanders of both sides and forcing them to declare him Lord of the Trident - Tyrion had been coaching Sansa on how she should behave when his relatives sent a representative to gather intelligence for Tywin.

His instructions were basically: be like Cersei, but polite.

“So this is the wife Tywin chose for you?” Genna asked Tyrion in imperious ringing tones that could be clearly heard in the farthest corners of the courtyard. “Pretty little thing isn’t she?”

“Lady Genna Frey, may I present my wife, Lady Sansa Stark-Lannister, my Lady Sansa, this is my aunt.”

The two women curtseyed to each other. It was more of a brief, graceful dip while holding skirts wide than the deep genuflecting Sansa had done before Queen Cersei.

Despite Tyrion’s assurance, Sansa had thought it would be rude not to bow and scrape to Lady Genna, but she was wrong.

When Sansa rose to her full height again, with her hands clasped before her, hidden in her bell sleeves she found an approving look on Lady Genna’s haughty face.

Sansa made a mental note that Tyrion was right: to show weakness in the Lion’s den was to be weak. Pride was to be worn like priceless jewels for all to see, envy and admire. Sansa tilted her chin up and stood straighter.

“I am honored to meet you Lady Frey. I now see at whose knee Queen Cersei learned her regal demeanor.”

“Charming,” Lady Genna pronounced. She glanced at Tyrion who shifted nervously from foot to foot. Clearly anxious that the principle women in his life like each other immediately.

“You may go see to your affairs now my lord Tyrion, I will take charge of Lady Frey,” Sansa promised.

“You are too kind my dove, but there is no need to trouble yourself. I know you have a great deal planned for today -”

“Tyrion I’ve brought your men of business from Lannisport. They have pestered for this entire journey like a puppies that needs to be taken to a tree. Go see about them before they puddle on the floor,” Genna ordered.

“I shall see you at dinner, my Lord” Sansa told Tyrion kissing the top of his head affectionately. "Don't worry, I'll be fine," she whispered into his hair.

Tyrion looked from Genna’s imperious face Sansa’s reassuring smile, before bowing to the ladies. He hurried into the hall followed by six men in costly velvet robes speaking over each other about Tyrion’s affairs in the Westerland.

Sansa watched him go with a fond look. She appreciated Tyrion’s concern, but she had faced the head of her father on a spike, she could withstand the inspection of a surrogate mother-in law.

“Come closer Lady Sansa, let me see you better.”

Sansa stepped forward and Lady Genna cupped her face in her soft fleshy hands. “You have a Tully face but there is Stark steel in your eyes. A fish and a dog - a strange combination to produce such a lovely girl.”

“No more strange than the union of a lion and a stag that has given us our blessed king Joffrey,” Sansa replied.

Lady Genna laughed. It was a loud guffaw worthy of a drunken lord, and made Sansa like Genna a little despite herself.

“Our blessed Joffrey is a fool, and Tywin more so. You could have made that spoilt boy a man worthy of his throne or Jaime an heir worthy of Tywin’s legacy. You have the kind of beauty that inspires men to heroics and villainy.”

“Thank you, Lady Genna.”

“Pity you were thrust upon Tyrion.”

“I beg your pardon -”

“This was all luck,” Genna said waving her hand indicating Tyrion’s conquest of the Riverlands and all his tactical scheming.

“We will have to agree to disagree on that point Lady Genna, my lord’s military accomplishments look unusually fortuitous only because he is so very, very clever.”

In Sansa’s opinion Tyrion was the best warlord in Westeros, even greater than Aegon the Conqueror. Tyrion did not have to kill ten thousand men or spend a fortune in gold to win war.

“Tyrion is not a born leader like Tywin, he’ll never be as handsome as Jamie. He will not give you vengeance for your father because he’ll never turn on his family. It might not even be possible for him to sire normal, healthy children. What will you do with only half a man Lady Sansa?”

Sansa stepped out of Lady Genna’s reach. “Tyrion Lannister is my one true love: I am as devoted to him as he is to me,” Sansa said fiercely. “My husband has double the honor and intelligence of men twice his stature. If he were two feet taller -”

“But he’s not two feet taller is he? No matter how great his honor, or vast his knowledge it will not make up for the fact Tyrion will always be too short in the eyes of most men.”

“Then it is fortunate that my lord husband prefers the companionship of women, not men, and values my opinions above all other women.”

Joanna may have pushed Cersei Lannister into the world, but Genna Frey raised her to be a cold and hard. Sansa could deal with cold and hard: she was a daughter of ice and snow.

“You’ve got a lot of pluck for a girl without a pot to piss in or a window to throw it out of.”

“You are as charming as Queen Cersei,” Sansa said with a sweet smile completely done trying to even pretend to be polite. “I am delighted to welcome you to Riverrun Lady Genna.”

Sansa was Lady of the Trident, heiress of Winterfell. This was her castle. She did not have to put up with the airs of any Lady Frey, not even her husband’s surrogate mother. Sansa leaned forward to embrace the Lady Genna Frey and kiss both her cheeks tenderly.

”You should know I don’t value your opinion enough for your insults to hurt my feelings. I don’t even care enough about you to dislike you for your unpardonable bad manners,” Sansa whispered close to the Lady Frey’s face.

“Tyrion is mine. The North and the Rivers are mine. Don’t like it? Go home.”

Sansa stepped back smiling. She snapped her fingers and her two direwolves, now the size of large mastiffs loped forward. Lady Genna and her ladies drew back fearfully from the massive dogs.

Sansa smiled wider. “Don’t worry, Phobos and Deimos are just puppies. Perfectly harmless, I assure you.”

“Those animals aren’t full grown?”

“Oh no Lady Genna,” Sansa replied laughing. “When they are full grown I’ll be able to ride them like a horse.”

Sansa gestured for her escort to step forward. Septa Kuthe rushed forward to drape Sansa’s riding cloak on her shoulders.

“If you’ll excuse me I have duties on my estates to attend to. Septa Bainter will see you and your party settled. Dinner is served promptly at 7.”

Boys from the stables came around the corner of the yard near the sheep pens leading horses. Sansa’s new handmaiden Jeyne Westerling, Ser Podrick Payne and ten armed men stepped forward to follow her as Sansa descended the steps.

Sansa swung up into the saddle of Eddard Stark’s massive white warhorse while Ser Payne held the reins. Then he helped Jeyne mount her horse. They smiled at each other shyly and Sansa made a mental note to find out about the girl’s parents.

Podrick Payne was like a son to Tyrion. Her lord husband would be very pleased if she could settle him in a happy match.

“I do hope you enjoy your stay at Riverrun Lady Genna," Sansa said sincerely as she turned her dancing horse' head to stay facing Lady Frey. "Tyrion and I are SO glad you’ve come.” Sansa kicked her heels and rode off through the gates, head held high and heart light as a feather on the wind.


	11. Chapter 11

Everything was so much simpler, and easier on the journey back to her family. Sansa was going home to her family. Tyrion was going away to the free cities with Bronn, Podrick and his lover Shae. Everyone would be safe with the people they loved. Everyone would be happy and free. 

The only part of the plan that had worked out as planned was Sansa was reunited with her family. 

Tyrion and Sansa strode into the great hall of the Twins with their bannermen behind them to find her brother Robb with an arrow in his arm, her mother and sister in law with knives at their throats, several men bleeding on the floor and Freys all around with blood on their hands.

No one - not the Starks, Freys, Tullys, or Roose Bolton - believed Tyrion was not part of the plot to kill everyone. 

Roose Bolton, Walder Frey, Uncle Edmure, Tyrion, Robb and Catelyn immediately got into a loud food throwing, shouting match headless of the wounded men. So Sansa took charge. She pointed out her relatives to her men, then ordered Tyrion’s sellswords to arrest everyone else in the room.

The Hill tribe Tyrion had brought to ensure his safe retreat ended up having to capture Robb Stark’s drunken army, the Freys, Roose Bolton, the servants, the small folk and everyone else who was not a member of the Hill tribes or one of Tyrion’s sellswords.

There was not enough rope to tie them all up, nor room enough in the dungeons. Tyrion, ever the imp, had all the women locked in the great hall naked and all the men - every single last one who was not related to Sansa - locked in the castle courtyard. Naked. 

All the naked people were left under the watchful eye of crossbow wielding archers.

Bronn, the Hill tribesmen, and the sellswords had thoroughly enjoyed the entire process. They were the only people happy and laughing the morning after the wedding feast. The only good thing to come out of the mass stripping was Arya and the Hound Clegane were found.

Sansa was happy to shove her sister into the same room as her family and lock the door behind her. Let Arya Stark explain for herself to their mother why she was found shirtless in a room full of men. Sansa wanted no part of that conversation. Hound Clegane was tossed in the dungeons.

It did not take many men to hold naked people captive in a well supplied fortified castle so Tyrion, Sansa and their men rode for Riverrun. Tyrion reasoned if his father’s men found out about Robb’s imprisonment they would attack the Twins to kill him.

Creeping barefoot through the marsh, under the cover of the thick mist that rose at night to blanketed the shallows and valleys of the Riverlands Tyrion’s army slipped into the Lannister camp. When dawn dried up the cottony darkness the Lion’s had all been caught.

Keeping with the new tradition, they were all stripped down to their boots and under the watchful eye of mounted archers marched triple file to the Twins. The Mountain Clegane was the only man shackled. He marched with an arrow still stuck in his arm and leg.

All that was left of the principal combatants and strongholds of the Riverlands was Riverrun. The lesser houses and castles would bend the knee if the seat of the Lord Paramount of the Trident could be taken. Bronn insisted it had to be taken by force, but Tyrion’s heart was not in it.

Tyrion was piteously sick. The malaisse had come upon Tyrion twice before during the journey to the Twins and it worried Sansa. She sent for the Maester they had kidnapped from the Twins. Maester Bernet said Tyrion’s recurring bouts of illness were the result of giving up wine abruptly. 

It would pass, Maester Brenett assured Sansa, with time. Tyrion would do well to never take up drinking as he had before or the next time he gave it up the sickness might give him waking nightmares or even kill him. That pronouncement sunk Tyrion so low, he took to his bed.

Bronn allowed his lord one day to grieve the loss of wine as well as his continued status as a married man, then sent Sansa to roust him out of bed to finish the work of subduing Riverrun before Tywin Lannister managed muster men from the Reach to take advantage of the situation.

Sansa had the field commander’s tent all to herself. The cloth and pole structure was almost as luxurious as her rooms in the Red Keep. There were rugs on the floor. Brass lanterns hung from the beams. There was a table made from a door and a carpenter’s saw horses and folding chairs.

Two braizers: one for cooking one to keep sleeping couch warm at night. The sleeping couch was wide and long enough to accommodate the Mountain himself. Sansa had the linens and furs burned and replaced with her own bed linens. 

Tyrion had spoiled her completely. Sansa was never traveling without her own feather bed and linens again for the rest of her life. 

It was as dark as Sansa could make it. All the lamps were unlit and the tent flap was closed. Sansa was reclined upon the bed. Her two wolves lay together at her feet their heads on their paws. Tyrion’s head in her lap. A damp cloth covered his eyes, and Sansa fanned him lazily.

“I could be on a ship to east right now,” Tyrion complained. “Wine in my cup and a girl on my lap -”

“Shae would not like that,” Sansa reminded her husband peaceably. 

During their journey to meet up with Robb’s army Tyrion had told Sansa everything he knew about everything he could think of. Tyrion reasoned if Sansa was informed, there would be at least one functioning head above the Neck in the North. 

Sansa had listened attentively to everything her husband told her, horrified by her family’s ignorance.

“Wine in my cup, watching a girl on Bronn’s lap then. It would be like a pleasure barge all the way to the free cities, but no. Your impertinent tickle-brained ratsbane relatives could not see fit to just take you off my hands and let me be on my merry way. Oh no! Not the easy way for the Starks -”

“Tyrion -”

“Let’s make things difficult! Your mammering fool-born brother is dripping blood from an arrow to his shoulder but he still has breath to doubt by honor! Never mind the man trying to kill his pregnant wife! There’s a Lannister to insult! Let’s do that first!”

“Keep shouting and your head will never feel better.”

“Trying to understand how your family can be even more motley minded that mine is what’s making my head hurt. I’ll never understand, so I’ll never feel better. I am going to spend the rest of my miserable life sick in this miserable tent and I’ll never have wine again. I want to die.”

“You just saved my entire family, my Uncle Edmure, and most of the Northern and Riverrun soldiers from being slaughtered by the Freys and Roose Bolton. You just have to ask and my Uncle Brynden will happily open the gates for our sake.”

“That’s not how this works Lady Sansa -”

“Why ever not?” Sansa asked unable to hide her frustration. If they just got an audience with Uncle Brynden, and explained things calmly, it could all be over by nightfall. 

“My sweet, gentle, naive wife,” Tyrion said gently. “My father has made the Lannister name a swear word in Westeros. No man in his right mind would open the gates of a fortified castle to a Lannister - no matter what was promised or which Lannister was making the promises.”

“But why milord?”

“Did your father never tell you what my father did to King’s Landing when King Aerys opened the gates? My brother killed the king by stabbing him in the back. My father let his men rape and murder the royal family then wrapped their bodies in red cloaks and sent them to Dorne-”

“Oh sweet Mother’s mercy -”

“That’s why Brynden Tully will piss on my promises.”

Sansa fell silent. Tyrion was as always right. She felt like a foolish little girl. Again. It was her duty to be her husband’s helpmate and she was no help at all. Sansa wished she could consult with her mother, Catelyn Stark or her brother, Robb Stark, but they hated her husband.

“You are the most brilliant man in all the seven kingdoms. I’m sure you can find a way to take the castle without killing my relatives or their vassals.”

“Sansa my darling snowflake of innocence you have faith in impossible things than all the Septas and Septons in the Seven Kingdoms combined.”

“Once you’ve taken Riverrun you’ll be Lord Paramount of the Trident and you won’t have to sail to Pentos to live happily ever after. You and Shae can live here in Riverrun.”

“Where will you be while my mistress is traipsing about the castle? Darning my socks down the hall?”

“I’ll darn socks in my own castle after I go North with my family. With Jon ruling no one can complain about a traitor being the Warden of the North.”

“What about Robb?”

“The North is a big place. Robb will just be lost in the wilderness until it’s safe for him to come out in the open again.”

“Don’t you ever want to marry and have a family of your own? You can’t do that with me and my paramour romping it up in the Riverlands. It’s better I leave Westeros completely.”

“It’s better you stay. Tyrion, after those men nearly, nearly hurt me during the riot. Just thinking about a man - any man - touching me makes my stomach turn and my limbs tremble. I never want to be a wife. Not ever. So long as you are here - no one can make me be a wife. Not ever.”

“Sansa dear, dear Sansa. No one can make you anything you don’t want to be. You can think your way out of any situation short of death.”

“Is there a way out of this situation which does not involve the death of a castle full of rivermen?”

“Three - no four, but we don’t have time for two of them and don’t have enough men for the third and I have no idea how to go about the fourth.”

“Tell me all of them anyway.”

“Starve them. Go under the walls or the gates snatch your uncle and force surrender. Either tunneling or through the gates. The castle sits in a river, we can dam up the river below the castle raising the water level until the castle is flooded. We can use ships to batter down the walls -”

“All those plans sound like a lot of bodies at the end of the day my lord husband.”

“Well your uncle isn’t a rabbit. I can’t just smoke him out and toss him in a sack - That’s it!” Tyrion cried snapping his fingers and sitting up suddenly. Sansa sat back and the rag slid off his head. 

The wolves lifted their heads watching Tyrion curiously. Normally when he snapped his fingers they got jerky. Tyrion did not disappoint them, he dug in the gold pouch hanging at his waist and dug out two strips of deer meat he tossed to the dogs. They caught the meat in mid-air. 

“You’re going to put Uncle Brynden in a sack? So long as you don’t kill him I don’t care what you do, Tyrion, but first you have to got to get him to come out of the castle - “

“Sansa don’t be a goose when you’re already a swan.” 

Tyrion scooted off the bed, and plopped onto the floor to pull on his boots.

“Where are you going?”

“To get your bloody great-uncle Brynden out that bloody castle before my bloody headache comes back.” Tyrion stamped his feet in his boots, then leaned over and kissed Sansa on her cheek. “You are the lightning rod of my flashes of brilliance."

“Thank you?”

"Phobos, Deimos guard your mother till I return.”

"The wolves lay back down, now across Sansa’s legs.

“I’ll try not to kill your great uncle, but he won’t be happy when he sees you. Brace yourself.”

“So long as he’s alive and mostly intact I really don’t care. He’ll have the rest of his life to get over being outsmarted by the most clever man in Westeros.”


	12. Chapter 12

“Your Aunt Gemma has sent intelligence more useful than Varys’ vague whispers,” said Tywin Lannister to his twins while waiting for a meeting of the small council to commence.

They sat at the small table in the Tower of the Hand, Cersei on the left, Jaime on the right, Twin at the head of the table. Jaime had no official place on the small council but Tywin was working to train his son to be the Hand of the King when he died.

Jaime was ill suited, but there were few people the Lannisters could trust to take over that pivotal role if Tywin died suddenly. The Lion of Casterly rock was determined to prepare his family to weather any storm no matter how much the resisted his efforts.

“Tyrion has secured the allegiance of all the surviving Riverlords. Sent most of our men and the Northerners home -”

“Most of them?” Cersei asked sharply. “What’s he done with the rest? Rallied them to attack us?”

“Tyrion would not do that,” Jaime objected.

“Tyrion would kill us all in our sleep if he could -”

“According to your aunt, Tyrion has offered soldiers with no home or family in the North or West the opportunity to earn land of their own if they work for two years repairing the damage the war has caused. If they marry a widow, he’ll pay the dowry. If she has children, he’ll pay more...Clever way to stock the land with loyal bannermen and clean up the burden of widows and orphans.”

“With whose money?” Cersei demanded.

“His inheritance from Uncle Gerion I’d imagine. You know Tyrion and Joy have run that business for years," Jaime said angrily.

"You’re Mistress of Coin, have you seen any evidence that Tyrion was stealing from the crown?” Tywin asked looking up from his letter. He waited to see if his daughter would lie to him, just to spite her brother.

Cersei squirmed under his assessing gaze. Tyrion was not the one who had robbed the crown blind while Cersei was playing queen for seventeen years. Tywin had looked over the ledger books himself. Tyrion had done a remarkable job getting the royal finances in order.

Tyrion ruthlessly negotiated with the merchants who supplied the crown to drive down expenses then used the Tyrell’s push to have an extravagant wedding to pay off all of the throne's smaller debts. Now all the crown owed was the Lannisters and the Bank of Braavos.

“The waddling maggot should have been born to a merchant,” Cersei muttered.

“Thank the gods he was born to me,” Tywin retorted. “Because that half size drunken beast is more useful to me than the two of you combined! He's delivered the Rivers and the North back into our sovereign control. What have you done?”

"I am queen! I delivered a king to you!"

"Enough!"Tywin slammed his hand down on the table and both Cersei and Jaime jumped in their seats.  "I put that crown on your head and I keep your son on his throne. You have done nothing but walk through doors I've opened since the day you were born. Both of you!"  

Tywin continued to read while his children looked at each other apprehensively. 

“It seems your brother fancies himself in love with his wife. So much so he has not done his duty and put a child in her. It seems Tyrion is too busy wooing Sansa with relatives, castles and jewels...Cersei?”  
Tywin looked up from the paper pinning his eldest child with his hard stare again.

“Yes father?”

“Didn’t Tyrion bring Tommen that green striped cat from the Vale? The little beast Pycelle says is worth its weight in gold because of its rarity?”

“Tyrion did Tommen no favors by bringing Ser Pounce to the Red Keep.”

“Your son’s gentle disposition can not be attributed to Tyrion’s influence. You are his mother. Not Tyrion,” Tywin admonished harshly. “He should have been fostered out at seven.”

“He was too sickly -”

“He’s fat as a sow and soft as maid’s hand. You are responsible for the embarrassment that boy has become. Robert the bold must be spinning in his grave.”

Cersei bit her lip and looked down at her lap. Tywin continued to read.

“Jaime, of us three Tyrion like you best does he not?” Tywin asked absently.

“Tyrion loves all of us father.”

“Save your empty platitudes for your whores boy. Your brother has not done his duty with that Stark girl. Take Tommen to visit his uncle Tyrion -”

“It’s not safe!” Cersei protested.

“No place is safe if we appear weak, too frightened to venture out of our castle walls in our own kingdom. No place will be safe if we let the Stark girl seduce Tyrion away from the family. Jaime take Tommen to visit Tyrion, and while you are there put a Lannister in that girl.”

"Just how am I supposed to do that father? Climb into bed with them and snuggle between my brother and his wife - I'm sure Tyrion won't mind -"

"It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a beautiful wife in possession of an ugly husband must be in panting, desperate need of a lover. Tyrion is more ugly than the gargoyles on the towers, surely you don't need two hands to seduce a girl?"

"Of course not father but -"

"But what? We should let Rickon inherit the Riverlands and Jon inherit the North because you're concerned about Tyrion's feelings? Tell me Jaime, how will Joffrey, Tommen and Myrcella feel when Rickon comes of age and marches with his two brothers on King's Lading?"

"For fuck's sake father! You would ask this of me after what happened to Tysha?"

"I did not think I had to tell you to be discrete. The girl's not a virgin anymore. They have shared a bed as man and wife for months now. No one will be surprised if Sansa's children look like you. After all, you and Tyrion are brothers. You should be thanking me, no doubt you'll enjoy yourself immensely."


	13. Chapter 13

Lady Genna Frey had two handmaidens, three ladies-in-waiting and a page boy to attend her. Lady Frey’s three ladies in waiting each had a handmaidens of their own. Genna had invited herself to sit and sew in Sansa’ presence after breakfast and had not left the room all day. 

The antechamber of Sansa’s solar at Riverrun seemed crowded with the Lannister ladies, and their servants sitting on all the couches, chairs, and benches of the spacious room. They sewed, gossipped and pecked at the delicacies on the table like a flock of fat hens on their nests. 

Sansa sat at her writing desk with contracts, deeds, receipts and ledgers spread out before her in neat stacks. A silver pitcher of honey sweetened lemon water with matching cups, and gold writing set with fresh quills stood ready at Sansa’ elbow. Her mother in the chair beside her.

Two armed guards stood just outside the open door. Squire Rollam with a dagger in his belt sat on the hearth using sand and a rag to scour the rust out of Robb’s ringmail. Sansa’s dire wolves lay on the floor beneath the table at her feet. They kept the Lannister women at a respectful distance.

Sansa had learned estate management at Winterfell. It was a lady’s duty to manage the land and run the household while the lord served his king. Although Sansa was a diligent student her maths were weak. She had asked her mother to look at the figures with her to help her understand. 

Not all of the records before Sansa pertained to the lands she and Tyrion now controlled in the Riverlands. Half of the ledgers were records of Tyrion’s personal holdings and businesses. Tyrion insisted Sansa understand his business and affairs in case something happened to him.

“The tragedy of you being married to that hideous creature is not without a silver lining,” Catelyn murmured quietly to her daughter. “When Tyrion dies you’ll be the richest women in the history of Westeros.”

“Thank the gods my husband is a healthy man in the prime of his life,” Sansa replied quietly. “I neither need nor want this much wealth. As the old saying goes: treasure attracts dragons and their fire as music invites dancing and singing.”

The numbers were unbelievable. The trust Tyrion was placing in her was staggering. Catelyn's comment made Sansa wished she had not asked her mother to help her. Tyrion’s finances now seemed like something she should have kept private. A dangerous secret.

“What’s that you say?” Lady Genna asked. “We can’t hear you over hear over here. Honestly Lady Sansa I’ve come all this long way just for the pleasure of your company. Don’t deny me my part in the conversation. I long to know my nephew’s precious little wife better.”

“Oh it was nothing Lady Genna,” Sansa said breezily. “My mother was just telling me these were her father’s rooms. She wished I had met him. I said it was a pity I couldn’t leave King’s Landing to be at my dying grandfather’s bedside, but King Joffrey could bare to send me from court.”

“You and my grand-nephew King Joffrey are fond of each other?”

“I was a particular favorite of his, for a short time, before I married my dear lord husband. Now of course his royal majesty has eyes only for my friend sweet Lady Margaery Tyrell, and who can blame him? She is a peerless beauty with a gentle heart. They call her the Rose of the Reach.”

“Do they really?”

“Indeed they do. She will be a queen worthy of our grace King Joffrey I’m sure.”

Arya peeped her head into the doorway. “I want a castle,” Arya Stark declared. “Sansa tell Tyrion to give me a castle too!”

“You can not have a castle Arya. You are much too young,” Sansa replied without looking up from the papers she was shuffling.

“I’m just two years younger than you!”

“At your age I could keep myself and my chambers clean.” Sansa gave her sister’s dirty clothes a significant look. Arya flushed. “You shall not be given more responsibilities until you have mastered the tasks you have at hand -”

“When I have my own castle I can order my servants to -”

“Arya! Be silent!” Lady Catelyn’s quill snapped in her fingers. “Sansa will do no such thing. I forbid it!”

“But Lord Tyrion’s got castles to spare, and I want one!” Arya insisted coming fully into the room.

“Is that delightful child one of yours Lady Catelyn?” Lady Genna asked. “I don’t believe we’ve been introduced, but then you have so many children perhaps I am mistaken?”

“How remiss of me,” Sansa said graciously. “Lady Genna Frey, my sister Lady Arya of Winterfell. Arya this is my Lord of the River Winter’s aunt, the widow of Emmon Frey. She’s come all the way from her home in her brother’s castle in the Westerlands to visit with us. Wasn’t that kind?”

Arya dropped a curtsey. “How do you do Lady Frey?”

Lady Genna nodded regally in Arya’s direction. “Charmed to meet you child.”

Arya turned her attention back to Sansa. “I overheard Tyrion promise to bestow a castle on his bannerman this morning!”

“Listening at key holes? They do raise such artful girls in the north,” Genna said. Her ladies in waiting tittered with quiet laughter. 

“I wasn’t eavesdropping,” Arya shot back indignantly. “I was practicing my sword work in the garden. Tyrion just walked up and told him in front of me. Tyrion did not care if I heard him or not.”

“A girl playing with swords is like a hen who crows. Unnatural. Nothing good can come of it.”

“I too have taken up fencing Lady Genna. It is excellent exercise and a useful skill to have in while our grace Joffrey’s reign is still so...new,” Sansa replied. “Queen Visenya, our blessed king’s hallowed ancestor, and mother of Maegor the first was a famous swordswomen I believe.”

“Didn’t Lyanna Stark play with swords? I don’t recall it did her any good, or am I mistaken?” Genna reflected.

“I wouldn’t know. My aunt Lady Lyanna of Winterfell was dead long before I was born. You must posses an excellent memory to recall things you witnessed as a young women. Twenty years ago,” Sansa replied sweetly. 

She had the pleasure of watching several of Genna’s ladies duck their heads and bite their lips to keep from laughing at Sansa’ a subtle dig at Lady Genna’s age.

Arya was not listening to Lady Genna or Sansa.“Why can’t Tyrion give a castle to me? I’m your sister Sansa! Isn’t that better than a bannerman?”

Sansa and Tyrion had discussed which castles to give to Bronn Blackwater and Podrick Payne after they had taken Riverrun for themselves.The war of the five kings had wiped out enough Riverlords that they had a good number estate houses and strongholds to dispose of if however they chose.

“Western girls are taught to not to beg for gifts from a Lord not their husband, or father but I suppose no one can fault the child for thinking of her obvious need for substantial dowry to make a decent,” Genna observed assessing Arya’s looks frankly. “At least someone is thinking ahead.”

Lady Catelyn flushed red with embarrassment. “I don’t need Tyrion Lannister to provide my child with anything -”

“Oh she has a dowery then? That’s excellent news! She looks to be of age for betrothal. I’ll be sure to mention that to brother Tywin when I write him next. She might do for Cersei’s second son Tommen. Perhaps one of Kevan’s boys? It’s high time Lancel -”

“I’m not marrying Tommen Baratheon! I don’t have to marry anybody after Tyrion give me my own castle -”

The dowager of Winterfell pushed her chair back and got to her feet in quick jerky motions. She stalked over to her youngest daughter and grabbed her upper arm. “Come with me Arya this instant.”

“But mother -” Arya protested as she was dragged from the room by her arm.

Sansa smiled at Lady Genna who was smirking about what she clearly thought was a victory. 

“You were kind to notice my sister Arya, Lady Genna. Arya has had little opportunity to mingle with society as noble as yours after our father’s untimely execution. I have faith her manners will continue to improve. We Starks are quick to learn from their past mistakes.”

A page ran into the room, hastily combed down his messy hair and bowed deeply to Sansa. 

“My Lady Stark Lannister, your lord husband bid me to ask if you would do him the honor of joining him for dinner in the great hall at this time? If it is not convenient my lord can come to you here or have dinner carried out into the garden if it would please you. It is a fine day he says.”

“It’s a fine thing to eat and swat at flies at the same time,” Lady Genna complained. “What can Tyrion be thinking? Dine out side indeed. We aren’t hill tribe heathens. The gardens look better framed by the windows, like a painting hanging on the wall.”

Sansa tapped her chin with the feather end of her quill, seeming to consider her options. Lady Genna had proven sensitive to flowers. Walks in the garden made her eyes red and watery. Tyrion was asking if Sansa wanted to enjoy her evening meal without his harpy aunt present.

“It is a very fine day, and I do love the roses. They bring my friend Lady Margaery Tyrell to mind. Blickling, please run back to my lord and say we shall dine in the gardens. The roses are indeed very fine and the weather is fair. Send me Septa Kuthe that I might dress for dinner.”

“Yes my lady,” Blickling said bowing. “Right away my lady.” The boy bowed again and dashed out of the room.

“I won’t join you for dinner. I’ll take my meal inside, thank you.”

“No? That is a pity. We have so enjoyed your visit Lady Genna. You make for such lively conversation. Every minute of your company has given us fresh joy.” 

Sansa snapped her fingers and her direwolves rose to their feet with a quiet scrape of their claws on the stone. Their golden eyes gleaming in the darkness under the table, a low rumbling growl rolled from their throats like a distant thunder in the clouds.

All of Lady Genna’s ladies and servants hastily fled the room with the briefest of curtseys and excuses to Sansa. It seemed the Lions of Lannister continued to be frightened by the Wolves of Stark. Good. 

Lady Genna remained seated out of sheer force of will, but she was pale with fright, her whole body trembling and her green eyes transfixed on the wolves. Sansa did not think Genna even noticed she was stabbing her own hand with the embroidery needle and not the fabric. 

“Please excuse me Lady Genna,” Sansa said raising her voice slightly. Her armed escort came into the room to stand protectively at her back. “I must refresh myself so I am pleasing in the eyes of my lord Tyrion. Squire Rollam, please clear my desk please then fetch your sister Jeyne to me.”

“As you will, my Lady.”

The squire dropped his work and rushed to the desk. Sansa handed him one of the keys that she now kept at all times hooked to her belt. It made her nervous at first to have access to all the vaults, cellars and strongboxes and their valuable contents. 

As her confidence grew, the weight of responsibility tugging and jangling at Sansa’s waist became a comfort. She was burdened with new responsibilities, but she also had control, authority, - the power to make her wishes reality. 

Squire Rollam gathered up the ledgers and papers neatly. They were placed back into their strong box and carried into Sansa’s bedroom where they were placed in a larger locked chest buried in the floor. He gave Sansa back the key and bowed out of the room quickly to fetch his sister.

Sansa may have erred in letting her mother see the books, but she would sooner set herself on fire than allow Lady Genna to peek at them. She had a feeling the other Lannisters had no idea just how much money Tyrion had. Sansa meant to keep it that way.

Sansa swept into her bedroom followed by her direwolves and closed the door behind herself content in the knowledge her guards knew to take up sentry posts outside her bedroom a door. Sansa went to her vanity and sat down on the padded bench and examined her reflection. 

She would soon five and ten. Sansa had lost her naive belief in happy endings for good people, the opportunity to sit upon the Iron Throne and her father all by trusting Queen Cersei. Thankfully Cersei was evil to everyone. Sansa gained an ally by way of a husband more than twice her age. 

The enemy of thy enemy is thy friend indeed.

She took up the little jewelry cloth and polished both her rings, the wolf first and then lion, while she waited for her lady in waiting and her handmaiden to come and help her dress for dinner.   
Even if Genna’s did not come to dinner some of her ladies would come to spy on Sansa’s family.

With Genna in residence Sansa felt obliged to wear the jewels and elaborate gowns she would rather leave locked in their trunks. North of the Neck, good food was all that was needed to make a good diner. In the south, Lords and Ladies were expected to put on a mummer’s farce.

It could take half an hour just to arrange Sansa’s hair becomingly. 

It made Sansa miss Shae. After crying herself to sleep, Sansa had over slept on her wedding day. Shae had Sansa bathed, groomed, dressed and out the door on her way to the Sept of Baelor in an hour flat.

Jeyne Westerling and Septa Kuthe came through the door at the same time. Septa Kuthe went to lay out Sansa’s dress. It was natural that the Septa who was confined to drab colors handled Sansa’ wardrobe with the care of a mother with her new born babe.

Jeyne took charge of Sansa’s hair. Jeyne was a shy girl with curly brown hair and a doe’s brown gold eyes who confessed to Sansa she felt herself to be plain as a dormouse. Jeyne greatly admired Sansa’s beauty, and liked nothing better than to style her mane of fiery red hair.

Sansa fully believed that Ser Podrick Payne was the perfect man to marry Jeyne Westerling.

They were so alike in temperament: so honest, so tender hearted, so even tempered, so unassuming - Sansa was convinced they would be love each other to the end of days. Unfortunately Jeyne’s parents were Westron nobles involved with the Frey/Bolton plot. 

Jeyne was the unwitting bait for Sansa’s great uncle Brynden only he refused to bite.

Technically Lady Jeyne Westerling and her brother Rollam - Robb’s squire - were hostages. However like many of the hostages taken during the Red Wedding whose lineage did not include Lord Walder Frey, they were working in the Stark-Lannister household at Riverrun. 

Tyrion had no charity for the Freys. He had sent almost all the Frey men bastard and true born, from old Lord Walder down to his two year old grandson to the Wall. Roose Bolton was in a black cell beneath the castle awaiting their trip back to Winterfell to be judged by the Northern Lords.

The Frey women were locked up at the Twins. They spent their days sewing, weaving, spinning and knitting for the Stark-Lannisters.

They embroidered silver lions and golden wolves on everything Sansa desired and made her household linens. Working together the Freys could finish an astounding amount of clothing very quickly. 

Every time Sansa presented Ser Bronn with a new outfit the man looked at her with utter despair. Sansa did not understand or care what his problem was so long as he and Podrick coordinated with Tyrion.

All of Sansa’s bannermen looked very smart in their matching shirts, pants and cloaks.

Tyrion was lazy about negotiating the return of their non-Frey hostages. The door was literally wide open. They were free to go home anytime they pleased. They did not.

Lady Genna had come to Riverrun to collect her two sons: Lyonel who was a Frey knight and Tion who was a Frey page. The Frey boys were captured by the Mountain Clegane, who had not believed they were Lady Genna’s sons and treated them like the rest of his prisoners.

Tyrion released them from bondage in the Lannister camp laying siege to Riverrun and kept them both under the close supervision bannermen until Lady Genna arrived. From what Sansa could see both Lyonel and Tion did everything in their power to evade being near their mother Genna.

Tyrion had confessed to Sansa he hoped the relatives of their free range prisoners would just come retrieve them. Tyrion did not want to spare any horses to carry prisoners away or waste his time haggling for ransoms. 

In the meantime they cheerfully worked to restore the estates along with everyone else. It was strange but agreeable.

Sansa supposed since Tyrion’s version of war did not involve killing and mutilating people, the people that Tyrion had captured were not particularly interested in avenging their defeat or running away from their prison. 

Sansa’s brother Robb and her Tully uncles often muttered together about the prisoner situation sullenly. Sansa’s mother Catelyn Stark determined to discuss the estimated time of arrival of grandchildren to secure Sansa’s claims to the Riverlands. Sansa avoided being alone with her.

Sansa wished her male relatives would run away from Riverrun but they felt honorbound to stay until their ransom was paid. Which might never happen because who was going to pay their ransom? Sansa? Jon? Aunt Lysa? Arya? Rickon? The Karstarks? Their pride was ridiculous. 

Sansa tried to free them. They would not heed her. She was just the Lady of River Winters, her lord must speak to them.

Sansa wrote them a proclamation of prisoner release on paper with gold leaf scribbles at the corners and pressed the wax with both of her signet rings. They would not accept it. Tyrion had not signed it.

They felt if their ransom was not paid they must wait for Tyrion to release them. Which Tyrion would not do. 

Tyrion was ignoring them because they would not listen to Sansa. Tyrion declared he would have nothing to do with men who were disrespectful to his wife. 

Robb, Edmure and Brynden were so insulted to have Tyrion insult their manners they set about proving they were the better lords than Tyrion. 

They rode out everyday to work the estates: organizing the work of the small folk, working the land themselves, chasing down bandits and being painfully polite to every women in the land - from the char women to Lady Genna. 

It was productive, but utterly tediously absurd. Like a mummer’s farce was Sansa’s life, but she would not complain. Everyone was alive to be foolish. She was thankful for that. 

“This will brings out the color of your fine eyes, Lady Sansa,” Septa Kuthe said holding up a dress.

It was watered blue silk. When she moved it looked like a rippling stream of water. It had two silver fish on the bodice connected at mouth and tail forming a heart and more tiny fish stitched all over the skirt with satin trimmings. The Frey girls were ugly but the had beautiful taste.

Jeyne looped strands of opals around Sansa’s head like a tiara and wove them into the loose braid that draped over her shoulder to her waist. “You must wear that one, my lady. It’ll make your skin look fair as fresh cream,” Jeyne said.

Sansa nodded her approval and after she was helped out of one outfit and into another, she turned to attends and asked. “Will I disgrace my lord’s table?”

“Oh Lady Sansa you are as beautiful as the maid herself,” Septa Kuthe praised. She pinched Sansa’s cheeks and lips to bring color to her fair skin then dabbed her lips with a light smear of olive oil to make them shiny. 

“You are a vision of delight, it is small wonder your husband is always smiling these days,” said Jeyne Westerling tying off the laces at the back of Sansa’s gown. “Lord Tyrion is lucky to have you Lady Sansa.” Jayne reached around Sansa to settle her beaten silver girdle around her slim torso. 

“We are lucky to have each other,” Sansa corrected. 

“Shall you wear the veil today my Lady Sansa?” Kuthe asked holding up one of the many scraps of shear cloth Sansa used to cover her face in public. 

“No. It is a family dinner. There is no need.”

Sansa took a deep breath, stood tall, squared her shoulders and smoothed her face into the serene mask she learned in Joffrey’s court. She clasped her hands demurely in front of her.

“Ladies, let’s not keep my Lord Tyrion waiting. Phobos, Deimos come.” 

Septa Kuthe hurried to open the door. One of Sansa’s guards walked ahead of her, the other walked behind her two servants behind her. The direwolves padded along at her side. Sansa had not been completely alone outside of the privy or bath since the day she married Tyrion. 

She was thankful for that.

Everyone Sansa’s procession passed in the halls of Riverrun bowed to her or curtseyed to her deeply. Sansa acknowledged all of her people with gracious smiles. She remembered what it was like to be ridiculed by Queen Cersei and by King Joffrey. 

She would not be like them. Her people would know the warmth of her love and the peace of her serenity.

The ornamental gardens of Riverrun were famous for their rare blue roses. From the tower windows above it was clear the master groundskeeper had set the garden in the pattern of House Tully’s coat of arms: silver fish shaped fountain in a background of white gravel in a field of blue and white roses surrounded by low stone walls and green fish shaped topiaries. 

It was the perfect place to have dinner beneath a large cloth canopy bedecked with ropes of wild flowers and lanterns burning citronella oil to keep the biting insects at bay. The round table was dressed in sparkling crystal, polished silver and crisp blue linen. The napkins folded into little birds.

Everyone stood when Sansa approached with her ladies, guards and dogs. Even her mother Catelyn Stark. Even after months of being the Lady of North Rivers Sansa still was not accustomed her family’s public deference to her. 

It felt wrong to set herself above them all, especially her own mother.

She had tried to tell her to stop, but Catelyn Stark insisted it was important Sansa’s elevated position be recognized and respected by everyone, even her mother. Especially with Lady Genna Frey sniffing around. Tyrion pulled out Sansa’s chair himself and everyone else sat after he did.

Sansa’ escort took up sentry positions near the poles of the tent facing out. Septa Kuthe stood a few feet behind Sansa’s chair ready to serve the lord and lady personally. Jeyne Westerling sat between Sansa and Podrick Payne. 

Catelyn sat between Podrick and Arya. Robb as beside her with his wife Talisa rubbing her enormous stomach reflexively. They planned to wait three months after Robb’s baby was born to remove to the North. 

One of Lady Genna’s handmaidens stood behind Arya and Catelyn, Sansa thought about dismissing her but refrained. Better Genna spy openly than bribe the servants. Ser Bronn sat between Tyrion and Lord Edmure, beside Uncle Brynden and Robb’s wife rounding out the table.

Septa Kuthe said grace, and Sansa prayed fervently that her relatives would not be ugly to her husband. Again. 

Septa Kuthe prayed over the food because she was a religious women from a religious order and no one else wanted the privilege. Servants came forward with the bowls of warm rose water in their hands and clean towels over their arms. When all hands were clean the meal began.

Then the first course was brought forth: a soft creamy cheese, served with slices of pears and apples drizzled with honey sprinkled with cinnamon. Wine was poured for everyone but Sansa, Tyrion and Robb’s pregnant wife Talisa. They all took honeyed lemon tea.

Sansa’s Uncle Edmure seized upon this immediately. “Still swilling sugar water Lannister? Don’t they teach their boys to drink like men in the West?”

Tyrion said nothing in reply to Edmure, he glanced at Sansa out the corner of his eyes and smiled mischievously. Sansa wanted to pinch the bridge of her nose but refrained. That would not be lady like. People were watching. Tyrion had sworn not to physically hurt her kinsfolk, he had not promised not to drive them all crazy.

“I hope you enjoyed the pears my darling wife. I had six fruiting trees brought from my father’s orchard in the West so you might enjoy their flavor at its freshest.”

“They were delicious my lord husband. We will have to plant some here and some in the glass house of Winterfell.”

“Can’t hear me Lannister?”

“What me to kill him boss?” Bronn asked quietly. "He's been asking for it -"

“No, no. Sit back. Enjoy the show.”

“He hears you fine Edmure,” Brynden Tully answered his nephew. He ate his fruit with his fingers while everyone else used their knife and fork. “He just doesn’t care what you say. He’s Lord Paramount of the Trident.”

“First remove,” Tyrion ordered tapping his empty wine glass with a knife. 

“I wasn’t finished with -” Arya began reaching to take back her plate. Catelyn snatched her hand and forced it down into her lap. 

“Arya be silent,” Catelyn hissed angrily. Arya slumped down in her chair in irritated huff. “You are a daughter of Winterfell. Act like it!” 

Arya slumped down in her seat pouting between Catelyn and Robb. Her brother bumped shoulders with her and gave her an encouraging smile, Arya gave him a little smile back.

The servants swept forward and took away the fruit selection, and brought out platters of meat and vegetables. Platters of soft honey buttered bread. Slow roasted wild boar’s belly, with sage baked apples, onions and plums. A Honey butter basted roasted haunch of venison stuffed with thyme and rosemary with potatoes, and carrots. 

“I’m Lord of the Trident! Just as my father was before me!” Edmure declared angrily pounding his chest with a fist. He stood up suddenly knocking over his chair. “Just as my son will be after me!”

“You’re a fish without a river to swim in.” Edmure dug into his food, tearing the bread apart and using it to sop up the gravy of the meat. He stuffed his mouth and kept talking. “Your words are wind. So shut up, you’re embarrassing yourself.”

Robb’s wife Talisa watched Edmure dig into his food like a starved dog with detached fascination until Robb gently nudged her side and she gave him a speaking look.

Her raised eyebrows seemed to ask this man is the son of a lord of this land? Really? Are you sure these people are related to you?

Robb shrugged and focused on his food. His wife did the same.

“You’re traitors! All of you traitors!” Edmure accused angrily pointing at everyone at the table. “I went to war for you Robb Stark - yet you break bread with the man who has stolen my castle! My birthright! And you Catelyn! My own sister -”

“Edmure please, sit down -”

“I will not sit down Catelyn! I will not sit down at a table with that half man demon spawn imp! He holds my wife hostage! I suppose that’s not important to you know your daughter’s taken what’s mine by all the laws of gods and men! My wife is with child! She’s-”

“A traitor,” Brynden said bits of food flew out of his mouth before he swallowed. Robb’s wife flinched when some of Brynden’s spittle landed on the edge of her plate. 

Robb wordlessly switched plates with her and continued eating as if nothing were amiss. Talisa kissed his cheek affectionately.

“That Frey wench who rode your cock to the gates of motherhood while her father put an arrow in young Robb? Is that the wife you’re so anxious to free?”

“Uncle Brynden there are ladies present!”

“ Come off your high horse Catelyn, I knew Ned Stark. He knew more ribald jokes than all the whores in Fleabottom. Talise there is a healer, who follows the war drum. There’s nothing she probably hasn’t seen and stitched back together -"

"My daughters are ladies, born and breed -"

"Your girls are hardly blushing maidens. One’s married, the other was found in the company of the Mountain Clegane.”

“Be that as it may. We do not discuss such things at table -”

“Is anyone LISTENING TO ME?”

“Why not? We’re all adults here. Lady Sansa might rule the Seven Kingdoms if she keeps going a pace, the other will be the first women in the King’s Guard if she keeps in practice. Talise will be put to work sooner rather than later if Edmure doesn’t shut his flapping food trap in a snap.”

“You really think so Uncle Brynden?” Arya asked perking up.

“You’ve got the finest foot work I’ve seen since Ser Selmy girl. Work on you -”

“Second remove,” Tyrion ordered laughing into his napkin. Ser Bronn was bothering to try and hide his chuckles. Jeyne kept murmuring quietly with Podrick, they were oblivious to everything outside their little bubble of timid pinky touches and peeking shy smiles. 

The servants presented desert with a flourish. Frosted lemon cakes, fig tarts and the famous Rose Pudding of Riverrun. Each tart in a light buttery shell was made with sweet cream, sugar, cinnamon, minced dates, and white rose petals. 

Talisa devoured her portion, Robb’s portion and flagged the servants to bring her more. She had developed a craving for dishes made from rose petals that alarmed the head gardener.

Sansa glanced around. The servants and soldiers were watching and judging them all silently. Even if Tyrion gave Uncle Edmure Riverrun, he would never again have the respect of his vassals after behaving like a child in need of a nap. Which was probably Tyrion's plan all along. 

Sansa swallowed her sigh. She leaned over to whisper in Tyrion’s ear. She kept smiling beautifully but she was angry with him. “Why are you doing this? Every Time we sit down to eat you provoke Edmure into throwing a fit, then Brynden bullies him and he storms off in a snit-” 

“And so you see my darling: not all wars are won with swords or by direct combat. Sometimes you throw blood in the water then watch the sharks tear each other apart,” Tyrion whispered quietly to Sansa.

“This is my family Tyrion -”

“These are your vassals my Lady Sansa. Not very good vassals at that. You need to teach your household better discipline if you mean to keep what we've won my lady wife. These people wouldn’t last a day in King’s Landing and you know it. Imagine if Cersei or gods forbid my father were sitting at this table right now.”

“Tyrion, are you - you’re testing them? Aren’t you!”

“I’m teaching you. These are the people you wish to entrust with your safety and your property. Look around. Who amongst the gathered is worthy of the mantle of leadership? Who at this table is acting like a leader? Taking charge? Trying to restore order? Behaving with wisdom? Who?”

Sansa looked at her family with new eyes. Trying to see them as Tyrion did: as soldiers whose abilities needed to be accurately assessed before plunging into war.

“Roslin didn’t know!”

“You think a hundred Freys kept a secret that big from a castle full of their women?” Brynden drank deeply of his wine. “You’re my nephew Edmure, and I love you - but you are a damned fool.”

“You would not dare say that if my father were alive!”

“If your father were alive he would have boxed your ears and called you a damned fool too.”

“How, how dare you -”

“Gods above Edmure, you’ve lost a castle not your life. Be a Tully, man! Make a name for yourself by the sweat of your brow and the work of your hands.”

“Who amongst these gathered would you trust to be castellan of this castle, the governor ruling these lands while we are removed to the North?”

“Uncle Brynden,” Sansa replied without hesitation. He had the strength of personality and the intimate knowledge necessary to hold the Riverlands and be master of Riverrun. 

“But my wife-”

“If you can’t be grateful to be free of that two faced hellcat you deserve her and all the trouble she’ll bring you.”

Brynden stood up from the table, marched over to Tyrion and Sansa and bowed politely to them. “By your leave Lord and Lady Lannister -”

“Stark Lannister,” Tyrion corrected speaking to Ser Brynden Tully for the first time since he was curse soundly after taking Riverrun castle. He picked up Sansa’s hand off the table and kissed her knuckles, and the wolf’s head ring as if pledging his allegiance, as he gave her an affectionate look. 

“I have taken my wife’s name as she has taken mine. We are united in all things. Please excuse me for interrupting, you were saying Lord Tully?”

"I am the LORD TULLY!"

“I’m no Lord, I’m a plain knight -”

“You’re a Lord if you have governance of a castle are you not?”

“Aye, but I’ve no castle of my own. Holster was first born, and Edmure inherited after him.”

“If you would consent to marry my widowed aunt Lady Genna Frey, be a father to her living sons, I would consent to grant you an estate as her dowry. Provided you prove yourself worthy of such honor by holding Riverrun and our lands below the neck in our trip to the North.”

Everyone at the table froze and stared at Tyrion who smiled like the imp that he was at Brynden.

“The fuck?” Arya said incredulously. “Uncle Brynden tried to kill him! How come he gets a castle be for me?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A BAJILLION thanks to everyone who sent me a comment. You have no idea how much it means to me to read your feed back! There are about two, at most three pieces more pieces left in this puzzle I think.


	14. Chapter 14

Jaime Lannister, son of Tywin Lannister, captain of the elite King’s Guard, unacknowledged father of Joffrey Baratheon King of the Seven Kingdoms glared balefully at his friend Lady Brienne of Tarth and was met by an expression of calm unconcern. 

“You fight with too much emotion,” the female knight admonished. She had bested him with one hand literally tied behind her back. She took a moment to unknot the length of rope keeping her right arm bound to her waist while she criticized his work. “Calm down. Or you’ll loose your other hand.”

“Damn it all to the seven hells with silver bells!” Jaime swore panting to catch his breath. The Golden Lion was flat on his back in the dirt. His wooden sword ten feet away. Lady Brienne, who had moments ago knocked him down with three swift blows, extended a hand to help Ser Jaime up to his feet. 

“It’s not possible to fight without feeling!” Ser Jaime grasped Brienne’s forearm. She jerked him up to his feet easily. The women was truly as strong as she looked. “The fighting spirit is fed by aggression. Anger. Rage. Sometimes even fear -”

“I beg to differ.” She stepped back and waited for Jaime to retrieve his practice sword. “I can see your arm remembers the movements. You have enough experience to make up for using your off hand. What you lack is focus. Stop looking over your shoulder. Distraction will be the death of you.” 

Jaime looked around reflexively. They were fighting in a neglected corner of the Sacred Grove. The unpruned trees grew tall enough here to provide shade and hide their activities from any watchers on the castle walls above. Still Jaime worried about being seen. Someone was always watching. 

The Master of Arms at Casterly Rock had insisted Jaime learn to fight ambidextrously in his youth, but he had not kept in practice. Although he had imagined dying many times - was plagued by nightmares on the eve of battles often - it had never occurred to Jaime he might be maimed and live his life as a cripple.

Since returning to King’s Landing after losing his right hand to the vengeful Lord Karstark, Jaime put in two hours of single hand fencing every day. An hour in the morning, alone in his room doing drills against a straw man. An hour in the evenings with the mute executioner Ser Payne or the discrete Lady of Tarth.

Jaime still possessed enough skill to easily defeat the average swordsmen, but he was no longer talented enough to be a member of the King’s Guard. Jaime had won the last duel he had fought a week ago, but it was a close thing. He expected more challengers. He needed to be ready.

To make matters worse, his father, the Lord of Casterly Rock, insisted Jaime spend eight to ten hours every day learning the work of the King’s Hand by standing at his shoulder watching him conduct the business of the realm and studying thick books on military history when he could be training. 

“You try to focus with the eyes of the world on you at all times!” Jaime did not yet possess the skill to beat the condescension out of Brienne, so he kicked at the hard packed dirt with his boot heels as he walked to relieve some of his frustration.. 

“Everyone is watching; waiting to attack. I was the greatest swordsmen in Westeros! Killing me, even now, would be like earning a knighthood! My life is a trophy to them! A 13 point stag’s head to hang on the wall.” Jaime picked up his sword and tucked it back into its sheath one handed with great difficulty

“When King Robert in his wisdom made me the only female ever knighted in the Seven Kingdoms, he meant it as a jape, but I take my call to chivalrous service very seriously. The eyes of the world have always been on me. They whisper and they watch. Sometimes they laugh where I can hear.”

Jamie winced guiltily. 

Brienne was known to Jamie, long before they had ever meet. Robert Baratheon had boasted of Brienne to Cersei as an example of the virtuous women to be found in the Stormlands. Women of honor who did not sit idle upon velvet cushions guzzling wine and brewing hateful gossip.

That night, in bed with his twin sister - while Robert Baratheon was out sporting with whores, Jamie had laughed at the notion of a burly hairy-bear a lady knight. Years later the bear women he had mocked, was selflessly helping Jamie hold onto his official position at court and his dignity. He felt shamed.

While Ser Payne, the man his father gave the well paid position of Royal Executioner, a man whose family had sworn fealty to the Lannisters for six generations, was charging Jaime a silver stag a half hour to help him train.

“How do you bear it?”

“I ignore them. Until it is time to kill them. Then and only then do I give them my full undivided attention.”

“I think that’s enough for to day Lady Tarth,” Jaime said with his back to Brienne. He went to the bush where he had draped a cloth, and began to mop the sweat off his face. He could not look at her now, he was flushed with embarrassment. “It grows late, and we have an early morning.”

“As you wish Ser Lannister,” she replied. Brienne holstered her practice weapon in its canvas sling and walked off following the path back to the main part of the sacred grove. She paused just before she was out of sight, “Same time, same place day after tomorrow?”

“Ah no...I’ll be leaving right after the wedding feast.” His face cooled Jaime felt brave enough to join Brienne, walking side by side back to the castle. 

“Oh?”

“I’m escorting Prince Tommen on an official visit to Castle Riverrun.”

“Is that wise? Taking King Joffrey’s brother and heir through the Riverlands at this time?”

“With an escort of fifty of the Crownlands finest, plus you and I to guard him Prince Tommen will be perfectly safe.”

“You want me to accompany you? Why?” 

Because I trust you to guard my back and my son’s life at all cost, Jaime thought. “You swore an oath on your honor as a knight to return the daughters of Winterfell to their mother. My brother has fulfilled that oath for you, after a fashion. I thought you might like to be formally released from Lady Catelyn’s service.”

Brienne nodded. “I would like that...thank you Ser Lannister.”

“You’re welcome Lady Tarth. As you say the journey is not without risks so pack lightly. We will take no wagons, wheelhouse or extra useless mouths. Only pack mules and horses so we may move swiftly.”

“As you wish...should I assume our arrival will be unexpected?”

“This is done with Prince Tommen’s safety in mind. Tyrion will not object to us showing up unannounced on his doorstep. He is very fond of little Tommen. Gods know he has paid more attention to the child than King Robert ever did. Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Forgive my skepticism. What you say is at odds with Lord Tyrion’s reputation at court; but of course you would know your brother better than the gossip mongers of the castle. Lord Tyrion is close with his royal niece and nephews?”

“Tyrion is excessively fond of little ones. He doted on Cersei’s children and our youngest cousins before they had tutors. When Sansa makes him a father, there will not be a happier man in all the Seven Kingdoms of Westeros.”

“Even if the child is a dwarf like him?”

“Tyrion is the only dwarf ever born in our family. If it were in our blood I’m sure father would have mentioned it by now. My father has always suspected King Aerys feed my mother Stoneseed nuts early in her pregnancy with Tyrion. He did that to Jon Arryn’s first wife. To make her barren.”

“In the Stormlands they sing the song of Clever Lann, Lady Casterly’s man. The first verse goes: He rode a snake across the sea to see the lovely Lady Casterly. A clever little man with hair white as dry sand. Walks proud like a duck, has the devil’s own luck. One eye dark as night. One eye green and bright-”

“I know how the song goes -”

“You never thought, from the description of in the lyrics, Tyrion and clever Lann bare a telling resemblance? Truly?”

“Clever Lann is as truthful as the Northmen’s old rhyme: Brandon built his wall, so tall, so tall to keep the Winter out. Of ice and stone he built his wall so tall, so tall to keep the Winter Out-”

“By blood and bone he bound the stones so tall, so tall that keep the winter out. Where winter fell the Starks must dwell, must dwell to keep the winter out. That song always gives me a shiver, even in this summer heat.”

“Why? It’s just a song. Nursemaid’s twaddle from the age of heroes. The Wall of the North is taller than the tallest tower of this castle. Do you really think one man built it?”

“No, but still -” she objected.

“No buts. It’s just a song, and please don’t sing about Lann in my brother’s presence. It annoys him. Greatly.”

Brienne’s reply was not what Jaime was expected.

“It’s a very lovely song. Lann saves Lady Casterly from the brute who wants to marry her, from bandits robbing her mines and from being lonely. The ending is especially touching - he wooed his lady love by playing chess until she saw at last that they were playing hearts with one love big enough for two chests-”

“Cersei and her ladies would sing Tyrion the stunted son to the tune of Clever Lann. All the castle children picked it up. A gang of boys that tormented my brother chased him up a tree after thrashing him. My father caught them taunting him with that song.”

“How did Lord Tywin handle the situation?”

“He whipped the lot of them - my brother included - with his riding crop on the spot. That put a stop to the teasing, but the damage was done. No one teased Tyrion after that, but they also would not play with him either. Even the servants left him alone until he was older. He kept company with books and Uncle Gerion.”

“Lord Tywin horsewhipped children?”

“The pride of the Lion of Lannister is not to be trifled with, not even by children.”

“I will take that under advisement.”

“I think my father has whipped everyone at Casterly Rock except my Aunt Genna, Cersei and Myrcella. He punched King Baratheon once. Snapped his head back, lifted him off clean off his feet and laid him flat on his back. That was a sight to see.”

“How did he get away with hitting a king? Where were the gold cloaks?”

“Why did Robert Baratheon think he could slap Cersei across the face while standing in front of my father in Casterly Rock’s Hall?”

“What happened?”

“Ser Barristan and his lot drew their swords. My father calmly said take your king to bed or in the morning Cersei will be a widowed queen regent and your heads will be spiked on the walls. Choose wisely. Then he sat back down and continued eating his dinner like unusual had occurred.”

“And Barristan the bold backed down?”

“They were outnumbered a hundred to one. It took six men to carry Robert out but they went quietly. The next day Baratheon pretended he got the hurt while drunkenly stumbling to bed. No one said a word to contradict that story. He never set foot in the Westerlands again. My father was never invited to court.”

The matter was dropped and companionable silence settled between them as they exited the gates of the Sacred Grove and entered the bustling castle courtyard. Preparations for King Joffrey and Lady Margaery's wedding had reached a frantic crescendo. 

All the royal wedding details had already been arranged, approved, finalized, paid for. The long tables set out, already laid with china, silver and crystal and covered with clothes to keep them clean. The royal high table pavilion was erected. It was so over decorated with gold and scarlet it was tasteless and ugly. 

Brienne nodded to the people who curtseyed, bowed or nodded to them as they made their way across the grounds up the stairs and back into the cool dimness of the castle’s stone corridors but Jamie did not bother. They were part of the scenery to him like the furniture. Noticeable only when they were not useful.

He did not know their names. He did not need to know their names. They were not important. Acknowledging the endless legions of menials populating the Red Keep was not worth the effort. They were minute pieces of a much bigger puzzle, individually unimportant but collectively significant.

Brienne would learn.

After she was released from Catelyn Stark’s service Jaime planned to commission her as his aide de camp. She was incurably honest, fanatically dedicated to her vows of service, showed no interest in starting a family and was unambitious as far as Jaime could see. The perfect second in command.

His father had uncle Kevin, Jaime would have Brienne.

They parted company in the great hall. Queen Cersei was approaching. Lady Tarth, like many people who did not like to be bullied preferred not to meet with the Queen Regent if she could help it. He would cajole the ladies into friendship by leveraging their love of him into fondness for each other. Somehow.

Cersei dressed in crimson and gold, headed an arrow of four Lannister soldiers like flight of geese migrating to warmer waters. Servants and courtiers dove out of her way.

Jaime supposed on the eve of being deposed as Queen of Westeros, foremost lady in her eldest son’s life and most beautiful women in the royal family, Cersei felt the world should be reminded that even without those three things she was still a formidable Lioness of Casterly Rock. 

Jaime dropped to one knee as Cersei drew closer with his right first over his heart. “My life, is yours to command Queen Cersei.”

“I command you to get up Ser Jaime.” Her voice was stern, but her lips twitched at the corners as she tried to suppress her smile. Cersei loved being deferred to, and giving orders. All her life she had fought for dominance. Especially in bed. To save trouble Jamie mostly let her win. “You may walk with us.”

Jaime rose to his feet and bowed to his sister before offering her his arm. “I am deeply honored.”

The continued across the great hall and back out into the courtyard Jaime had just left. “I know father wants you to continue working with him after dinner, but I need you to ride into the city. Go to the largest brothel on Silk Street this instant. Do something about that odious Oberyn of Dorne.”

“What has Prince Oberyn done that the Lord Commander of the King’s Guard needs to go and do something about him?”

“He has the Mountain Clegane’s head pickled in a jar of alcohol. For a silver stag anyone brave enough to dip their cup inside the glass is allowed to have a taste of mountain waters to toast Joffrey's health, reign and nuptials.”

“Are you sure it’s Gregor’s head?”

“Uncle Kevan’s Justicar made a positive identification. There can be no mistake.”

“Surely no one would want such a foul brew -”

“King’s Landing is over run with beggar rats from the Riverlands who fled before father’s armies to seek succor from first Eddard Stark, now the High Septon and our rosy Tyrell. They are afraid to back to the Riverlands now that Tyrion is Lord Paramount of the Trident. Prince Oberyn has a line out the door.”

“What has father to say about this?”

“Father said let them drink the poison and die. It will save us the expense of killing them.”

“The Old Lion is as ever, unconcerned with the opinion of the sheep. You are not satisfied with his judgement -”

“I will not stand for it! This is our city! My Kingdom! Blatant disrespect can not be tolerated! Not now. Not ever. It flies in the face of everything we stand for! If we let them mock us, how long until they rise up to murder us?”

“Very well I will gather men from the City Watch barracks and see what needs to be done.”

“He needs to be imprisoned in the black cells until he learns his place!”

“We can not imprison a prince of Dorne in the black cells. Myrcella is in Dorne.”

Cersei paled. “You’ll handle this?” she asked pleadingly, clutching at him with her talon like nails. “After this damnable wedding, I want you on the first boat down to the sand seas. Bring her home. I don’t trust those greasy belly crawlers. Especially not after this. Should have spiked the lot of them and been done with it.”

“I’m sorry, I can not oblige you. As you know the father has ordered me to go elsewhere.”

“Damn father, I am your queen! She is your -” Cersei’s voice rose with her ire. Her words traveled further than she could have possibly intended. 

A little distance ahead of them the Chamberlain of the Red Keep was consulting with the Tyrells about the wedding feast decorations. Ser Loras had Lady Olenna on one arm and Lady Margaery on his other arm. The Chamberlain and the Tyrells paused to look in their direction at Cersei’s outburst.

“Yes, your grace I am well aware of my duty to Princess Myrcella. I love my niece dearly. We will discuss this with father after I come back from extending a royal welcome to the Prince of Dorne,” Jaime said quickly to cover what Cersei was about to slip and say. He kissed her hand and departed.

Cersei did that sometimes when she was very angry; almost blurt out secrets that could get them all stoned in the streets. It made Jaime’s heart beat triple time like war drums readying the men to charge. He hurried to the stables while she collected herself and reigned in her temper.

Father was wise to try to bring Jaime onto the small council. With the thorny tendrils of Highgarden winding around the very heart of the capital, the Lannisters would have to stand shoulder to shoulder if they wanted to hold what they had won with gold and blood.

When Jamie arrived at the pillow house on Silk Street the line to drink the Mountain’s waters was not just out the door, it extended down the road all the the way to the square in front of the Sept of Baelor. There were also vendors selling food and some of the acrobats hired for the wedding performing for pennies.

“It’s like a bloody street fair,” Jamie muttered. 

Jamie had brought fifteen men from the city watch act as a show of force but there were easily two hundred men and women people outside the whore house and waiting their turn. The captain of the city watch and a phalanx of the gold cloaks were posted every twenty feet down the line keeping order.

“What goes on here?” Jaime demanded riding up to Ser Ian Hillsboro, the Lannister Bannerman Tywin Lannister had made captain of the city watch after he dismissed Ser Bronn Blackwater. He was a stocky man with a small eyes and a twice broken nose, built like a barrel with legs and log thick arms.

After Tyrion had gone through the civil servants like a reaper dismissing to the Wall any one he found to be corrupt, Tywin had filled the vacancies with his own war dogs. Tywin hired for the crown from his own armies to guarantee he was surrounded by loyal men, and save himself the the cost of paying their wages. 

“Just what it looks like Ser Jaime,” Ser Ian replied in his usual blunt manner. “Tis a line to get in a whorehouse.”

“I can see that! Why haven’t you dispersed these people? Do you know what their purpose here is?”

“Aye I am aware. The Lord Justiciar, who serves as Master of Laws in Lord Kevan’s absences is aware. Your father, Hand of the King is also aware. My Lord Tywin ordered us to stand down, but keep the peace.”

“You expect me to believe my father -”

“I heard it out Lord Lannister’s mouth with my own two ears. Ask Queen Cersei if it please you my Lord. She was standing alongside when I approached my Lord Tywin with the report of the happenings here. It’s out of the ordinary to be sure, but perfectly legal none the less.”

“Did he say why?”

“No Lord Tywin Lannister did not happen to have a spare moment to explain himself to the likes of me. I did not of presence of mind to question the will of the Hand of the King so I might have an answer just in case you happened along asking questions Lord Commander of the King’s Guard. I humbly beg pardon my lord.” 

Ser Ian touched his helmet respectfully to the horse mounted knight and if Jamie were a younger man he might have flushed with embarrassment. Lannister bannermen generally had as much tolerance for stupidity as their liege lord, and markedly little patience for Jaime since his defeat at the Whispering Wood.

His father knew about it and wanted no interference. Tywin could be taking names of those foolish enough to openly mock the Lannisters for future reprisal. He could simply not want bloodshed on the eve of Joffrey's wedding. 

Jaime was tempted to leave the situation alone. The sun was setting and Jaime still had a list of things that needed his attention before his head lay upon a pillow. First and foremost Jaime needed to go over the wedding security again and making final preparations for Prince Tommen’s trip to Castle Riverrun. 

However he had promised Cersei to do something about Prince Oberyn’s antics, and it was the duty of a knight to keep his word to his lady fair. Although he had broken his oath to the King and the Seven Kingdoms, Jaime Lannister had never broken his word to a member of his family - especially not to Cersei. 

“I am going in to speak with the master of the house, remain here until I order otherwise,” Jaime commanded the City watch Lieutenant who was mounted at his side. He dismounted and tossed his reins to Captain Hillsboro. “Mind my horse Hillsboro, there’s a good man.”

The useless man could tend Jaime’s mount since he seemed set on being disobliging and unhelpful. Captain Hillsboro caught the animal’s thither and held it. “What are you about Ser Jaime? Lord Tywin ordered us not to interfere -”

“My lord father ordered you not to interfere. I received no such instruction, but then why would he such a thing to me? I am his son, not one of his servants,” Jaime said to Captain Hillsboro dismissively and was gratified to see the man flush with anger.

“As you wish Ser Lannister,” Captain Hillsboro gritted out through clenched teeth. 

Jamie shouldered his way through the cluster of people blocking the door, uncaring for their outraged cries and bruised bodies. If they did not get out of his way they deserved to be cuffed and cut or worse. A path cleared for him as it became apparent his armour and resolve would not yield to the masses. 

The greeting room of the whorehouse was a large open space with bead and gauzy cloth covered niches along the walls with the padded benches, call pleasure couches were the cheap girls worked on clients who could not afford a room or hours of pleasure.

The fine carpets and plump colorful pillows the whores would sit upon until chosen were all rolled up and stacked out of the way of the crowds, but the incense braziers that dangled from chains in the wall burned mixing the scent of sex, sweat and perfume. 

A massive wild boar was turned slowly over the fire pit in the middle of the room by three skinny flat chested girls. Their hair braided in a single long plait, wearing long flowy white pants but no shirts or shoes as was the custom of children sold to whore houses to mark them as being too young to serve patrons. 

The second floor ringed the wall halfway to the arched ceiling with the hole in the roof for the fire pit’s smoke to escape. The painted wooden doors of the second floor were all closed. A bevy of whores sat and leaned upon the balcony railing in fancy colorful garments that looked more like costumes than clothes. 

Jaime gave the ladies above of his most charming smiles and was gratified to see them twitter like birds in a menagerie and wave with gauzy scarves at him like ruffled feathers. None of them moved to come down to him, and he did not go to the stairs along the wall to go up to them. He was on business of the Queen.

He looked around. Some half dressed women were moving about the crowd with platters balanced on their heads like tavern wenches exchanging bread bowls of roasted pig meat with drippings or mugs of mountain water for coins they stuffed unashamedly into their bosoms. 

Their chest were mischappenly sagging and bulging with coin. 

Jaime made his way over to the alcove flanked swordsmen with shaved heads. The Whoremaster reigned over her human livestock from the wide padded couch upon the wooden dais. She was reclined like a eastern queen being fed strawberries by one and fanned by another of her topless girl children.

Before her on a wide table was a barrel size glass jar filled with amber colored ale inside was the floating head of Gregor Clegane. Milky dead eyes and slack jaw open. As Jamie made his way closer he could see it was a trick - Clegane’s head was actually inside a tall vase of clear liquid inside the larger jar. 

A shirtless girl is using a dipper to fill the empty mugs on a whore’s tray when Jamie approaches. The guards protecting the whoremaster did not move until he set a foot upon the bottom step of her raised platform. 

Then he had four swords tips pointed at his throat before he had drawn his broadsword completely from its sheath. The whoremaster glanced at him curiously with raised eyebrows. “Surely you don’t need that sword to enjoy the pleasures of a pillow house do you Ser?”

“Jamie Lannister,” Jaime replied. “Lord Commander of the King’s Guard.”

“Lord Commander of the King’s Guard?” The whoremaster swung her legs off her padded throne and rose to her feet with the languid grace of a dancer. She flicked her hand and her swordsmen withdrew their weapons and returned to their statue like vigilance. 

Her slippery satin dress slithered after her across the floor as she comes down the steps and circled Jaime. Her fingers trailed over him teasingly light as her perfume. “My, my, my we are in the presence of greatness. You honor my humble house of ill-repute Lord Commander of the King’s Guard.”

“Your sellswords are impressive.”

“They are Unsullied. Warrior-eunuchs bred and trained in Astapor. The perfect guardians for a business where sex is the commodity for sale.” 

“Is that where you’re from Madam -?” Jamie trailed off waiting.

“Shae-la Shae-la Saar.” She extended her hand and Jamie kissed it.

“A name so nice you say it twice,” Jamie said turning his charm on her. 

“Thank you Lord Commander Lannister.” Shae-la lead Jamie by the hand to come up to her pillow piled couch. Jamie sat down, and Shae-la reclined - laying her long legs across Jamie’s lap. His hand slide up and down over her satin covered flesh appreciatively. 

The girl with the fruit offered Jamie the tray. “Will you partake?” Shae-la asks rubbing one calf against Jamie’s crotch. “They are luscious and very ripe.”

“Strawberries are a particular favorite of mine.” Jamie plucked a plump berry from the group. He ate the first himself and fed the second to Shae-la, brushing her lips teasingly before gently pushing the berry between her lips. “The only fruit I know as sweet as a lover’s kiss.”

Shae-la’s manner was seductively disarmingly, but there is something about her that reminds Jamie of Tommen’s Ser Pounce. A predator playing at being a pet. When performers were auditioning for a spot at the royal wedding, Jamie witnessed the adorable fluffy kitten easily kill a snake charmer’s two cobras. 

She is the kind of women Tyrion would choose for himself. A well endowed in the chest and hip with soft sun kissed skin, sable dark hair and eyes. Not a trembling scarecrow like the Stark girl, but a full grown woman sure of herself and the allure of her body and unafraid to use her power over men.

Jamie wished Tyrion could meet Shae-la. With this dark temptress in his lap, and good wine in his cup Tyrion would not care a whit what Jamie did or was doing with his skinny weepy frigid northern wife. If only he had time to persuade her to come with him to the Riverlands.

“Love is a beautiful thing indeed, but in my experience true love’s kiss is bitter-sweet.”

“Perhaps you have been kissing the wrong people Shae-la Shae-la.”

“Perhaps I have, but I can not complain. After all it was love that made it possible for me to open this establishment.”

“Petyr Baelish gave you this -”

“I bought this from his local man of business for a very reasonable price some months ago. The money came from the end of my life’s great love story. A generous last gift from my former lover.”

“He died?”

“His father forced him to marry. His child bride is his equal in birth and fortune. It was considered an excellent match - the bride and groom are perfectly miserable of course, but his father is well pleased. That’s all that really matters.”

“He would not keep you? Surely if his wife is noble-born she did not really expect to have her husband’s constant attention. Especially not after the cradles are filled?”

“My lover would not dishonor her or I in that way. So he gave me gold, my freedom and all the love in his heart to take with me to the ends of the world. Now I have all that I have ever wanted except for him, and I sell the illusion of love to men and women who don’t know what that word means. It’s all very ironic.”

“You are pleased with your investment so far?”

“Very pleased. I meet such interesting people here. Yesterday I met a Prince from Dorne, and today the Lord Commander of the King’s Guard. If things continue at this rate, I may even meet the king before long.”

“Is that something you want? To meet the King of Westeros? Because it can be arranged.”

Shae-la laughs as perfect and charming as any courtier entertaining a royal. If he did not know she was a courtesan he would not know she was a courtesan. Where ever she came from they trained her well. Jamie is impressed. 

“Are like a genie in a fairy-tale?” Shae-la asked in a sultry voice sitting up to slide her arms around Jamie’s neck. “Where do I rub you to have my wishes granted?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay I apologize for this taking so long, but my imagination/inspiration for this story is drying up so their will only be one more part to it and then I am moving on to the next story. I would appreciate any ideas for names you might have. Yes Shae-la Shae-la is Shae.


	15. Chapter 15

I could not craft a perfect ending for Lannister Travel that would tell everything I wanted known in less than five pages from only one character’s point of view. So I shall word vomit every ending I came up with one right after the other. I hope you enjoy it.

Jon Snow regretted joining the Night’s Watch miles before he ever set eyes upon the wall. His father’s wife, Catlyn Tully-Stark never let Jon Snow forget he was a bastard; a living stain upon his father’s honor. Lady Catlyn did everything in her power to turn her husband and children against Jon Snow.

Yet Jon Snow still missed his father, Eddard Stark and Lord Stark’s true born children, the Starks of Winterfell. 

Jon was despised by his new black brothers. They were mostly criminals or orphans with no fond memories of their time before the wall, and no living family to miss. Even the cast off clothes Lady Catlyn provided Jon Snow were brand new compared to what the other black brothers wore.

Jon’s Uncle Benjen Stark was unsympathetic. 

He insisted Jon would settle in with the other black brothers in time. Uncle Benjen maintained Jon Snow would earn his place in the ranks of the Night’s Watch according to his ability, despite all evidence to the contrary.

The only bright spot in Jon Snow’s frozen hell of homesickness and ostracization was Tyrion Lannister. The royal imp had his own wine, his own bodyguards and his own ideas about decorum. 

Tyrion spoke to who ever he pleased, however he pleased, whenever he pleased and none could gainsay him. Tyrion was rude and charming at the same time. No one was sure what to make of the unabashed dwarf, but Jon was sure he liked him.

For his own amusement Tyrion told the Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch that Jon Snow was his personal attendant and it was so. The Lord Commander hoped pleasing the Queen's brother garner a friend for the Night's Watch in the royal court. 

Jon’s duties principly entailed following Tyrion around while the little man invaded the privacy of every man he met, pouring his wine and listening to Tyrion’s stories.

Tyrion had a lot of stories. Stories about feast and ceremonies he attended. Stories of the women he had bedded. Stories about the places he had traveled or wanted to travel. 

Stories from the books he had read or wanted to read. Stories about the people he had met and the people he had heard about. Stories that made Jon regret joining the Night’s Watch even more than before. 

The world was a big beautiful place filled with interesting things he would never see or experience. 

Jon Snow had shackled himself to the Wall, thinking in his ignorance, that it was an honor to serve as a Sworn Brother. 

For the first time in his life, Jon Snow resented his father, Lord Stark, who had allowed him to make such a foolish decision without any opposition or dissuasive advice.

Deep down in his heart Jon Snow wished Tyrion Lannister was his father. 

Tyrion would not have been ashamed of his son, weather he was a bastard or not. Tyrion would never have allowed Lady Catlyn to treat his son like dirt. Tyrion would never have allowed his son, bastard or true born, to waste his life at the wall.

Jon cried the night Tyrion departed. Jon was only fourteen years old. This was Jon's first time away from the only home and family he had ever known. The last human friend Jon had in the world was gone. 

Except for his direwolf Ghost, Jon felt totally alone in a frozen prison of hostile envious men. Jon had never been more miserable in his entire life. He wanted to run away. He wanted to die. He had nothing to live for but hate and hard work.

A month later, the first letter arrived. 

Tyrion had made it back to Winterfell. Bran was awake and still had his wits. Robb was being a pompous arse. Theon Greyjoy was a laughing arse. The rubbish in the library attic burned, but not the books. 

Lady Catlyn had gone south. It was a secret - the servants were happy to tell for a little silver.

Do not despair your life is over, Tyrion wrote. House Baratheon began as bastards of the Targaryens now a Baratheon sits upon the Iron Throne. The Tyrells were stewards of House Gardiner. When King Mern burned they ascended. 

Your time will come Jon. This your opporutnity to prepare. Study with the Maester and the Master of Arms. Learn all a man must know to be a wise and prosperous lord of men. You are a young man and the future is not set in stone. 

Although nothing was explicitly promised or implied in the letter, Jon Snow became convinced, his friend Tyrion Lannister would get him out of the Night’s Watch. 

Jon asked Maester Aemon, who confirmed it was possible. If the King of the Seven Kingdoms commanded it, a man could leave the Night’s Watch. Such a thing had not been done in a hundred years, but it had in the past occasionally been done. 

Jon Snow was over joyed. 

Tyrion Lannister, the dwarf, was sympathetic to what Jon Snow, the bastard, had suffered. It was only a matter of time before Tyrion obtained an order of release for Jon, and called him to serve as his page. 

From Tyrion’s stories, Jon had gathered he did not have any friends besides his brother Ser Jamie or trustworthy attendants.

Perhaps Tyrion might recommend Jon to squire for his Uncle Ser Kevan Lannister. If Jon earned a knighthood he could make a real name for himself and earn his fortune. He could win lands of his won and the love of a noble women.

Jon was happily mucking stables, scrubbing floors, and studying at night with Maester Aemon when the second letter arrived. 

Tyrion was captured in the Riverlands by Lady Catlyn and Tully bannermen.

He was taken to the Vale where he stood trial for Bran’s attempted murder. The evidence against him was a blonde assassin no one at Winterfell could name with a bag of gold and a valyrian steel dagger with a dragonbone handle. 

Lady Catlyn did not have the corpse of the assassin or the valyrian knife to present as proof of her accusations. 

She had no witnesses or incriminating letters to give as evidence. 

All Lady Catlyn had was the word of her childhood friend, Petyr Baelish, that the knife had passed from him to Tyrion as part of a bet.

Even with that scant evidence Tyrion was almost sentenced to death through the moon door by a breast feeding six year old, Lord Sweet Robin Arryn. Tyrion demanded a trial by combat. 

Tyrion’s champion was a sellsword named Bronn. Lady Lysa chided Bronn for not fighting with honor to which Bronn replied, her dead champion had enough honor for them both. 

Tyrion and Bronn escaped from the Vale only to be nearly killed and captured by Hills Tribesmen over a goat before making it to his father’s war camp.

Jon was frightened by Tyrion’s second letter. For the first time in his life he allowed himself to freely hate Lady Catlyn. 

She was not content to just make Jon’s life miserable, no she had to slander and attempt to murder Tyrion too. Tyrion had no reason to kill Brandon, but logic had no baring on her reasoning. 

Lady Catlyn was a hateful women, and Jon would not forgive her.

Jon redoubled his efforts at self improvement. 

He consulted with the Maester Aemon, and read every book the Maester suggested early in the morning and at night by candlelight. 

He picked up what languages he could from the three sailors who were sent to the wall for rape. He practiced fencing and archery until his hands were raw.

The third letter arrived four months later. It was written in high Valyrian. Even after months of studying and Maester Aemon’s tutoring Jon Snow still needed a dictionary and a week to translate the entire missive. 

King Robert Baratheon was dead. Killed by a boar. Tyrion suspected his sister’s involvement. Lord Eddard Stark was dead. Beheaded on King Joffrey’s order for treason. 

Robb Stark had called up the Northern bannermen to avenge his father and rescue his two sisters from the capital. Arya had vanished. Sansa was a hostage. The spy master said the Greyjoys were rebelling, Theon was going to attack Winterfell.

By some freak accident of circumstance Tywin Lannister’s attention was absorbed fighting Robb Stark in the Riverlands because Ser Jaime Lannister and several Lannister cousins were captured. 

Tyrion was Hand of the King. Stannis and Renly Baratheon were preparing to attack the capital. Tyrion was uncertain if he would survive the attack on King’s Landing. 

As a final bequest to Jon, Tyrion enclosed an official document of legitimacy and clemency signed by King Joffrey, who had killed Jon’s father, Eddard Stark. Jon Snow was Jon Stark, and officially released from life long service to the Night’s Watch. 

Tyrion also enclosed a certificate of legitimacy for Ramsay Bolton, bastard of Lord Roose Bolton. He encouraged Jon to use Ramsey Snow to thwart the Greyjoy’s ambitions and save his brothers from certain death. 

There was also directions to a chest of silver and gold coins buried near a whorehouse in Wintertown.

If the fates were more kind, I would have invited you to sail east with me to see the nine free cities and adventure upon the open sea, Tyrion wrote. 

Unfortunately my usual luck prevails. I will most likely die trying to save a city and sister who despise me. Fighting against men whose cause is just.

Use the gold to buy sellswords in White Knife to fortify Winterfell’s defences or send a raven to Ramsay and offer him legitimacy for loyalty. 

The spy master tells me that Lord Bolton has taken a wife and means to produce a legitimate heir. That should be enough motive to turn Ramsay to your cause.

What every you choose to do - even if it is to turn your back on the Starks as they turned their back on you - know I wish you well from the bowels of hell. 

Live long and prosper Jon Stark. 

Your friend. 

Tyrion Lannister.


	16. Chapter 16

“What- what! What are you doing!” Ser Bronn Blackwater demanded disbelievingly striding into the tent with Squire Podrick Payne on his heels. 

Lady Sansa, wore dressed of grey undyed wool, with her sleeves tied back with twine, and a blood splattered apron. Her long red hair was tied up under a drawstring mob cap like miller’s wife. 

Even flushed and dirty she looked more hale and hearty than she had at King’s Landing. Warfare clearly agreed with the constitution of the Northern girl in ways the intrigue and abuse of court life did not.

“Tending to the wounded,” Lady Sansa Stark Lannister replied without looking up at her lord husband’s right hand bannermen. She was perched on the edge of a cot in the tent an injured soldier, leaning over the body of an unconscious young man, neatly stitching a long cut on his back closed.

They had not suffered any fatalities while taking the Lannister siege camp, but a handful of foot soldiers were wounded.

“You handle a needle and thread with the same expertise Bronn handles his sword,” Squire Podrick Payne complemented Lady Sansa’s work looking over her shoulder. “Your stitches are as neat in human flesh as they are in your embroidery hoop.”

“Thank you Squire Payne,” Sansa said happily, she glanced over her shoulder and flashed a smile at the her husband’s most trusted men, before turning her full attention back to her work.

Bronn cuffed the side of Squire Payne’s head and pulled him away from Sansa’s side by the back of his jerkin. 

“Stop flinging praises at the boss’s wife before you put her eye out. The imp will cut off your cock and feeds it to the goats.” Podrick paled and backed four steps away from Sansa.

“Don’t worry, my Lord Tyrion wouldn’t do that to you Ser Podrick!” Lady Sansa protested scowling at Ser Bronn over her shoulder. “Stop saying awful things about Lord Tyrion, Ser Blackwater!”

“Look Red, Tyrion is your first husband. I’ve met more than two dozen jealous husbands through their accommodating wives. Trust me. The gods never created a man who’s comfortable with his wife being complemented by another man.”

“My lord’s not like that! He’s really very sweet and kind -”

“Yeah, yeah he’s my new best friend. You admire his...moral stature. Podrick loves him like a father. Your wolf pups want to kick his balls -”

“For the Seven’s sake! Bronn you can’t say things like that to Lady Sansa,” Podrick shouted in outrage. “It’s, it’s not proper!”

“-we’re all one big happy family - in the middle of a war your wonderful husband seems to have forgotten about!”

Sansa blew a stray wisp of scarlet hair off her sweat damp forehead, dabbed at the blood welling up between the lips of the flesh in the young man’s back she was closing up stitch by stitch. “Maester Bernet says he’s sick. There’s nothing for it except time and rest.”

“I heard what Bernet said. Tyrion was sick. He isn’t sick now. He’s sulking.”

“He was green -” Squire Payne objected. “He could hardly keep that tea down -”

“He threw up. It’s over. He’s fine. Time he got off his arse and finished the war off proper before Tywin Lannister organizes reinforcements from the Reach to kill us all.”

“Even hard marching, it would take an army at least a month to get here from Highgarden,” Squire Podrick said.

Ser Bronn cuffed the Squire’s head again. “Tywin could have men from the Crag at the Twins in fifteen days. There are enough Lannister bannermen locked up in the Frey pit to wipe us out -”

“What should we do?” Sansa asked worriedly.

“You should stop what you’re doing -” Bronn grasped Sansa’s shoulders and pulled her up to her feet. “Hustle over to the command tent and light a wild fire under Tyrion little arse before Tywin KILLS us all.”

“What do you expect me to do?” Lady Sansa protested as she was frog marched by Bronn to the tent’s flap opening. “Singing won’t make him feel better. He doesn’t need stitches-”

“Try massaging his little ego until his mind is back on the task at hand.” 

“You go too far Ser Blackwater!”

“Shut up Payne! She doesn’t even get the jape.”

“Are you making fun of me again?” Lady Sansa demanded in wounded tones trying to turn around so she could face Ser Blackwater but he kept propelling her forward by her shoulders. “I’m making every to do to be helpful! Just because I can’t swing a sword or, or make a campfire -” 

“Or cook, or catch a rabbit, or skin a fish or do the washing up -”

Sansa Stark-Lannister wrenched her body free of Ser Bronn Blackwater’s grip so hard she stepped on the edge of her dress’ hem. The lady stumbled, but with grace learned through countless hours of dance instruction at Winterfell Sansa recovered her footing and stood tall.

Lady Sansa Stark-Lannister walked up to Ser Bronn Blackwater with her fist clenched at her sides, her shoulders back, her chin tilted up and her blue eyes on fire. 

“Never handle me like that again Ser Blackwater in public or private. Never speak discourteously to me again Ser Blackwater in public or private. I swore to love, honor and obey my Lord Tyrion till death parts us. I made no such promise to you. Henceforth your impertinence will not be tolerated.”

Ser Bronn rocked back on his heels and raised his eyebrows at Lady Sansa’s boldness. “What are you gonna do Red Lady? Sic your dogs on me?”

Sansa raised her chin higher. “I’ll have my husband dismiss you from our service. We both know you’ll never find another liege as liberal with his good will or generous with his gold.” 

“You think Tyrion would choose your cunt over my sword arm?” Bronn scoffed. “Tyrion has had more whores than you’ve got hair on your head red. If it comes down to it -”

“You think Tyrion will choose you over me?” Sansa said wonderingly. “You’re so full of bitterness, spite and pride you actually want Tyrion to choose between us just to prove a point! You greedy, unfeeling selfish, ninny! You deserve all the misery you’ve ever suffered in your life and more.”

Bronn laughed, but it was a hard bitter laugh. “All this singing about sunshine and rainbows - now we see the wolf hiding in the lamb’s skin.”

“You still don’t get it. I’m willing to work with you because Tyrion likes you. Not because I need you. I have a real family. Tyrion only has Podrick, you and me. I know you think friendship and honor are foolish Bronn, but I thought Tyrion was more to you than just a meal ticket. Clearly I was wrong.”

“This isn’t a fairy tale where the knight and his liege are blood brothers who live and die for each other. Everyone gets gold and the women of their dreams then lives happily ever after in the end -”

“You are right. This is war. It is nothing like the songs. There is nothing brave or noble about armoured knights butchering fishermen, bakers, and pig boys forced by their landlord to serve as foot soldiers.  
That’s why we are here. To stop the violence. For everyone’s sake. Are you interested in that?”

“Yes -”

“We are also going to get rich as Lannisters in the process. Then escape this hell pit with our lives and sanity intact. Are you interested in that?”

“Yes -”

“Then stop acting like a belligerent grump all the time! Start acting like you are the Captain of the North River’s household guard!”

“I am not your glorified bodyguard! I am -”

“You are! Start taking your job seriously or we will all be killed in our sleep! Military discipline is not just something we say, it’s something we live! Lead by example! Tyrion is not tall enough to inspire the men. I have noticed they treat him the way you treat him Bronn, and YOU aren’t respectful!” 

“I respect Tyrion!”

“You don’t act like it,” Podrick contradicted. “Just this morning you called him a wretched little bastard -”

“Shut up Payne!” Bronn commanded cuffing the back of Podrick’s head again.

Sansa slapped Bronn across the face. Hard. 

“Stop hitting Podrick!” she snapped. “He’s not your child, he’s your lieutenant! If you keep hitting Podrick for saying things you don’t like Bronn, he won’t tell you things you need to know when you need to know them! Then something bad will happen and we’ll all die! Do you want THAT?”

“No -”

“Then stop hitting Podrick upside his head! Mother, Maiden and Crone! You served with Lord Tywin in the Riverlands, did you see him and Ser Kevan smacking their subordinates around? I don’t think so. If you can’t think of where to begin, start by acting like Lord Tywin and work from there!”

“What do you know about military discipline Red? March to the drum between sewing sessions and dance lessons up at Winterfell?”

“My father was Warden of the North. I’ve watched our household guard train all my life. Bronn we are surrounded by men of the Hills tribes who have never been in a regular army. You have got to organize these people into units with commanders. Drill them in manuevours. Train them to fight together.”

“Anything else your grace?” Bronn asked sarcastically. 

“Yes, as a matter of fact shape up your attitude mister. There are literally hundreds of men who would kill to the Lord Commander of a Lannister army if you don’t want the responsibility. You can be demoted to body guard and drinking buddy if that’s what you want. Is that what you want?”

“No -”

“Then start acting like you are where you want to be! Be respectful of Tyrion, Podrick and I in public! Train our rag-tag forces to be a cohesive military force. Appoint competent subordinates and hold them accountable. Do you job! Or as much as it pains me, I’ll find someone else. Am I understood?” 

“Perfectly Red Lady.”

“Excellent. Now if you’ll excuse me Lord Commander Blackwater, Ser Payne, I have a husband to bestir from his bed.” Sansa picked up her veil from a nearby stool, draped it over her head and went out the tent flap. 

“That girl just might be the making of Tyrion Lannister,” Bronn said contemplatively to himself and Podrick standing beside him watching Sansa make her way across the siege camp outside Castle Riverrun. “We’ll have to wait and see.”

The men - tribesmen, sellswords and smallfolk jumped out of her way and bowed low as she swept passed like a three masted ship cruising into open water through a harbor full of little rowboats.


	17. Chapter 17

Sweet Robin usually took his meals in the nursery with Septa Lino when his mother had the important Lords and Ladies to dinner. Sweet Robin’s godfather Lord Royce insisted he be allowed to attend her wedding feast, unless of course Lady Lysa wanted the rumors of her parental incompetence to flourish.

Thus young Sweet Robin got to walk his mother down the aisle of the Sept of the Moon to where Lord Petyr Baelish waited with a new cloak. Sweet Robin got to hold both his parent’s hands when they lead the procession of guest, drummers and pipers playing the wedding march into the great hall.

Uncle Petyr and Sweet Robin wore matching silver blue velvet tunics, white pants and boots. Their outfits coordinated perfectly with his mother’s low cut white gown. A silver bird was stitched to her bodice, it’s wings - made of feathers stitched to the gown in layers thick as fur - spread over her skirt.

Sweet Robin sat upon the special chair that made him tall enough to sit comfortably at the banquet table with his mother on his right, and his uncle Petyr on his left. All the other lords and ladies took their places along the great crescent shaped table. 

The servants, with heavy platters balanced on their heads, had to dodge the acrobats and dancers cavorted in the center of the room. The pipers, and drummers were joined by mother’s favorite troubadour strumming a lute and singing about a maiden and a bear. 

Sweet Robin had never seen so much food laid out before him. Roasted pig’s head with cinnamon apples. Glazed quail stuffed with baked butternut squash and cranberries. Rich beef sweet potato stew in a bread bowl- Uncle Petyr said Sweet Robin might have what he liked because it was a special day.

Sweet Robin was so happy he forgot himself. He forgot what he promised Uncle Petyr about being a good boy. “Will we be going to the royal wedding with Uncle Petyr?” asked young Lord Sweet Robin Arryn asked his mother innocently. 

Lady Lysa Tully-Arryn-Baelish face wrinkled up like the sheets on an unmade bed when she frowned. Sweet Robin immediately regretted asking. He had put his mother in a bad mood. 

“Certainly not,” Lady Lysa Tully Arryn Baelish declared. 

“But Uncle Petyr is going!” Sweet Robin whined. He did not particularly care about the wedding or going the the capital. He certainly did not want to see mean Joffrey. Lord Robin simply did not want to be parted from his new Uncle Petyr who was funny and fun and a boy just like him. “Why can’t we go-”

“It is bad enough Petyr must prance around in a cape of feathers under the blazing summer sun risking fainting from heat stroke to appease the Lannister’s love of vulgar extravagance; I won’t have my only child’s health endangered to satisfy the whims of Queen Lannister!”

“But mother,” Sweet Robin pleaded, blinking back tears. He REALLY wanted to go with Uncle Petyr. He must not cry. Petyr said boys should not cry if they want to grow up to be big strong men; but it was hard to hold the tears in. “I want -” 

Lord Petyr placed a gentle hand over Sweet Robin’s. The little boy glanced up at his new parent and saw the man minutely shake his head ‘no’. Uncle Petyr meant it would be better to keep quiet, let mother have her bossy, bossy way. 

Robin knew he was forbidden from eating, before his mother started eating. That was RUDE. It was too bad, so sad for his empty stomach. He could tell from her frown face she would not answer, yes or no. She was going to talk, and talk and talk about why she said yes or no. Sweet Robin sighed.

Uncle Petyr understood how mother was too strict. She was all rules, rules, rules and no, no, no! Mother made Robin eat boiled oats, and plain bread while everyone else got meat and cakes. Mother made him go early to bed, take nasty medicines, and never ever let him play with other children. 

Uncle Petyr was the only person who took Robin’s side. Everyone else listened to his mother. Uncle Petyr was the only person who remembered Robin was supposed to be in charge, not his mother. 

Uncle Petyr sunk Sweet Robin out to ride a pony for the first time in his life. Uncle Petyr brought Sweet Robin honey buns and bacon jerky. Uncle Petyr was Sweet Robin’s only friend; one day he would help Robin tell mother what to do. But not tonight. Tonight mother would not stop talking.

“The miasma of dirty air hanging over that city like the rumors about the queen hanging over the court that made you a sickly baby Robin, my sweeting! Being here in the mountains where the air and people are clean is restoring your health.”

Sweet Robin slumped down in his chair. Wishing he had not spoken. Lady Arryn had laid down her fork and knife to give her full attention to the conversation. All the lords and ladies did likewise, since it was customary among the nobility that meals did not start until the head of the house began eating. 

“You’ll catch your death if you go back to the capital. I’ll have no further discussion going to the capital or royal weddings am I understood?”

“Yes mother,” Sweet Robin muttered petulantly. He could not wait until he could sit in his father’s chair all by himself. His first law would be NO TALKING DURING DINNER AT ALL EVER EVER!

“Taxes have risen twice since Lord Tywin became Hand of the King,” Lord Petyr Baelish said in his usual mild tones, drawing Lady Lysa’s attention away from Sweet Robin. The child shot him a grateful smile. “Likely to go up twice more before winter.” 

“Surely not,” Lord Nestor Royce scoffed. “There is no need now that the war is over.”

“Is it over?” Petyr Baelish asked. 

“Lord Tyrion put down the Stark rebellion when he took Riverrun,” replied Lord Gilwood Hunter. “There should be a reduction in tax as soon as the last of the soldiers are paid off.”

“There is still Stannis Baratheon to deal with,” Lord Royce reminded them. “He’s a shrewd one, Stannis is. He won’t fall for Lannister tricks like Robb Stark and Brynden Tully did. Stannis will demand his pound of flesh and get it. Mark my words.”

“Stannis is too far North to matter anymore,” Horton Redford replied dismissively. “Mock King Stannis and his ragtag band of rebels will freeze to death in the first winter blizzard.”

“Lord Stark used to brag, none but Northmen born could survive winter above the neck,” Lord Royce reflected fondly. “He said his brethren had fur in the blood.” 

“When Tywin calls upon the Northmen to pay the Blood Price for their rebellion they’d best learn to shit gold in a hurry,” said Benedar Belmore. 

“The Northmen have nothing to fear from Lord Tywin,” replied Petyr Baelish. “The law states the family of the king is exempt from paying the tax. Lord Tyrion, the king’s uncle, owns the North and Rivers by right of marriage and conquest. The North-Rivers will not pay tax until Joffrey’s son is born.”

“I thought that law ended with the Targaryen reign!” Lady Lysa exclaimed. Lord Robin lay his head down on his folded arms in front of his empty plate and let the voices of the adults roll over him. They would never stop talking now. He would starve to death. 

“Of course not, why do you think Lord Tywin was so eager to marry Cersei to Robert?”

“As if the Lannisters aren’t rich enough! We are paying for their war, now they expect US to pay for the royal wedding!”

“I heard Queen Cersei has a tiara for each day of the week.”

“I heard she never wears the same gown twice.”

“I heard Queen Cersei commissioned a two masted galley for Princess Myrcella’s personal use, now what does a slip of a girl need with her own ship?”

“I heard the riot broke out in the capital because when the people cried out for bread, Queen Cersei laughed and said let them make cakes from mud and be satisfied!”

“Kingdom’s gone to shit since Robert the bold bit the dust.”

“Killing Ned Stark certainly did not help matters.”

“Stark was a good man. He could have talked Renly and Stannis into cooperating for the good of the realm.”

“Not even good of Ned could have talked the Baratheons into accepting Queen Cersei’s ill-begotten get as King of the Seven.”

Uncle Petyr nudged Lord Sweet Robin gently, urging him to sit up like a big boy again. 

“I am surprised Lord Tywin is not insisting the heads of all the Starks be paraded on poles following the wedding procession from the Sept of Baelor to the wedding feast at the Red Keep,” said Lord Royce by was of a joke. 

“I bet bloodthirsty King Joffrey the terrible would love that,” Lady Arryn said nastily. “I knew that boy from a babe. Joffery was always a heartless little creature. Cruel to his siblings and my son. Thankfully, my niece Sansa has Tyrion Lannister well in hand.”

“I how ever did she managed it?” Lady Anya Waynwood wondered aloud. “I heard Lady Sansa was friendless, and routinely mistreated by King Joffrey at court after Lord Eddard was executed. Then I heard the Lannisters wed the poor child to their monstrosity in an improbable bid to claim the North.”

“Improbable as it seems, Lady Sansa has gone from hostage to Lady of the North Rivers. A remarkable ascendance-,” Lord Petyr reached across the table to gently touch one of Lady Lysa’s hands while he looked adoringly at his new wife. “Only a Tully women could accomplish.”

“She must possess extraordinary powers of understanding,” Lady Myranda Royce said with a suggestive wiggle of her eyebrows. “To gain so much influence over her husband so quickly.” 

“We Tully women have ways of managing our men,” Lady Arryn said superiorly casting her sly gaze upon Petyr Baelish across the table from her. He raised a glass in acknowledgement of her prowess. 

“Well the girl must be a veritable firebrand of concupiscence,” Lord Royce declared. “I heard the runt Lannister was even more into whore than you Baelish. Damned if I ever met a woman who’d make me lay the world at her feet as Tyrion Lannister has done.”

Lord Royce cut his eyes to Petyr Baelish, but directed his question to Lady Arryn. “I’ve heard Lannister has emptied the hills of their tribes, and means to make an army out of them.”

“Oh yes,” Lady Lysa Arryn said dismissively. “I meant to announce it earlier, but with my wedding to plan, it just slipped my mind.”

“What slipped your mind Lady Arryn?” Lady Waynwood inquire politely.

 

“Lord Tyrion came weeks ago with on an offer I could not refuse. In return for relocating the Mountain clans to the North-Rivers like the pied piper lead his rats, we ceeded Petyr’s claims to Harrenhal, the title of Lord of the Trident, his home in the fingers, and the three sisters islands to Tyrion and Sansa.”

“What a bargain: everything Baelish and Sunderland have in the world in exchange for filthy savages,” Lord Royce mocked. 

“The Three Sisters are a festering plague-spawn den of pirates. No one will miss them. Petyr did not need the wreck of Harrenhal or that loathsome flint tower on the tip of North Finger. Let Lannister throw his money into those tumble down ruins. Petyr’s home is with Robin and I here in the Eyrie.”

“Without Harrenhal and North Finger to call your own, you are reduced from Lord Baelish to Master Baelish, consort of Lady Lysa,” Lady Myranda Royce observed watching Baelish carefully. “You are satisfied with that arrangement?” 

“I was glad to make a personal sacrifice for the greater good,” Lord Baelish assured them with only a hint of bitterness in his voice. “As Lord Robin’s stepfather, it is my duty and my honor to do all I can to secure Lord Robin’s future is prosperous.”

Robin and Petyr shared a warm smile. That was why Robin Arryn liked his Uncle Petyr best of all. Everyone else SAID how much they cared about him. How loyal they were to the house of Arryn. Only his Uncle Petyr actually loved him enough to give up all their favorite stuff for him.

Not even mother would do so much for him. 

Sweet Robin knew he was a lucky boy to have Petyr Baelish for a second father.

To my kind, patient readers: THANK YOU SO MUCH! Your encouraging comments are GREATLY appreciated. I’d hug you all if I could.


	18. Chapter 18

Jeyne had graciously volunteered to help the aged Kennel Master of Winterfell carry out his duties. Every day for two months she took the rag Ramsay used to wipe himself down at the end of the day and presented it to Jon’s direwolf Ghost and Winterfell’s wolfhounds before the dogs were given their meat.

Lady Jeyne Bolton was sure her efforts to train the hounds of Winterfell to attack her husband would work. 

Eventually. 

In the meantime she lost patience with Lord Ramsay’s clumsy attempts to intimidate her into loyal obedience. Lady Jeyne leapt at Lord Jon Stark’s request to personally deliver letters from Winterfell to Riverrun. She sincerely hoped her husband would have gotten himself killed by the time she returned. 

With the sunlight so bright it hurt the eyes, and the cloudless blue sky stretched overhead vast as the sea without wind from horizon to horizon, it was hard to credit the Citadel Maester’s pronouncement that the long summer was ending and the snows of long winter only two or three years away. 

“See over there?” said Steelshanks Walton, pointing to the citadel of blueish stone with three spiral towers dotted with stained glass windows like jewel chips on dark velvet. It was built set in the middle of the water where three rivers joined in the wide flood plain of lush green meadows and tilled fields between the forested hills. 

“That is Castle Riverrun. The curtain walls are triangular to deflect the river’s flow better. Village on the right bank is Rivendell, village on the left bank is Laketon,” Steelshanks said pointing to the sprawling walled cities on both sides of the wide brown river.

The small group accompanying Lady Jayne Bolton, the new wife of the newly legitimized Lord Ramsay Bolton of the Dreadfort included not only Steelshanks Walton, but an escort of fifteen armoured Dreadfort cavalrymen and a handmaiden Jeyne picked up during her brief stay at Winterfell.

Jeyne drowned the handmaiden from the Dreadfort in her bathwater to show her husband she was not easily spied on and to teach the Dreadfort servants not to trifle with her. It was surprising the variety of skills an attentive student could pick up in a whorehouse owned by the Mockingbird, Petyr Baelish. 

“They are very close to the water. Don’t the villages flood every season when the rivers swell with heavy rain?” Lady Jeyne Ramsay asked the captain of her husband’s guard. Not that she cared one wit about flooding, but she had learned in the whorehouse to always show interest in what men knew.

Men liked women they could impress. 

“Yes, Lady Bolton, they do. That’s why the rivermen build their houses up on poles and pillars. When it floods they move their flocks to high ground and go about their business by boat until the water recedes. It’s the river muck that makes the Riverlands so fertile. See how green the fields are?”

“A blessing from a curse. Such is the way of the gods in all things,” Lady Bolton murmured piously. She did not believe a word she said, but having reputation for piety was almost good protection against the casual lechery of bannermen as a sharp dagger in the garter belt. Lady Bolton had both. 

“You are very knowledgeable Ser Walton. I am pleased my lord husband chose you to escort me to the Stark-Lannister court.” She briefly laid a gloved hand on his arm to emphasize the sincere appreciation in her voice. 

Jeyne smile shyly at Steelshanks Walton then drew up the hood of her traveling cape; making sure her face was demurely hidden in shadows. Ever the proper lady. In public.

Let Ramsay be a monster if he so choose, when his abused war dogs turned on him - as all abused dogs eventually turned on their master, Jayne intended to survive and thrive in her widowhood.

Unaccustomed to praise from a fair, young, noblewomen Steelshanks Walton cleared his throat gruffly shifted in his saddle and turned his burning face away from Lady Jeyne when he replied. “It’s less than half a day’s ride to Riverrun. If we keep to a brisk pace all the way without stopping, Lady Bolton.”

“Whatever you think is best, Ser Walton. I am completely in your power.” Steelshanks looked at her sharply, and Lady Jeyne ducked her head biting her bottom lip to keep from laughing. It was almost too coy a thing to say to poor Walton, but Jeyne did not want the man to be completely uninterested. 

In dogs and men, a little interested sniffing was perfectly acceptable. It was the uninvited licking and humping Jeyne would not abide.

Lady Jeyne dug her heels into her horse’s flanks. She let the reins go slack, giving her mount its head and the gelding shot forward like a bolt out a crossbow. She surged ahead of her bannermen, careful to keep her head tilted down so they could not see her grinning beneath her hood. 

Jeyne could ride better Arya Stark. Being Sansa Stark’s constant companion had limited her opportunities, but her mother was the daughter of Winterfell’s previous Horse Master. The childhood friend of the wild Lyanna Stark. That sainted slut who got so many men killed for her tainted honor. 

Unlike poor Sansa, whose only crime was trusting that her parents would not betroth her to a monster. 

“My lady!” Steelshanks hollered out when Lady Jeyne’s escort caught up with her. “Hold the reins tighter! I told Lord Ramsay that horse was too spirited to suite a gentlewomen! I’ve lost count how many times that horse has bolted on you this trip! I ought to break its legs!”

“Oh please don’t!” Lady Jeyne cried out in alarm. 

She really liked the horse. Frost Knight was a high stepping hunter. He was bred to carry Sansa when the Starks rode to hounds. Sansa gave up riding when Lady Catlyn hired Septa Mordane who preached southern nonsense about ladylike behavior and the heresy of the Seven Gods of the invading Andals. 

“I can keep him in hand! I was just distracted for a moment -”

“A moment is all it takes to break your neck!”

“You are right Ser Walton,” Jeyne agreed quickly. “It was kind of Lord Stark to lend me Frost Knight, but I’ll be sure to return Frost to Lady Sansa when we arrive at Riverrun.” 

“See that you do, my lady. See that you do,” Steelshanks Walton grumbled.

Knowing the horse belonged to the overlord of his liege silenced Steelshanks plans to kill Frost Knight to Jeyne’s satisfaction. They rode together at a brisk trot over the rolling hills at the forest edge until they came to the table land of the valley floor. 

They swept wide of the town and curved back to avoid scattering the shepherds tending flocks of sheep, goats and cows grazing the meadows of tender green clover outside the fenced off fields of grain sprouting from the rich black soil where farmers were weeding and digging a canal to irrigate their fields.

The farmers and shepherds shouted to each other excitedly when they saw Jeyne’s party ride by. The recent war in the Riverlands made the dire wolf of Winterfell banner that Jeyne’s harald was flying as familiar to the Rivermen as the Tully leaping trout. 

They mounted the dirt King’s Road rising a cloud of dust that hung in the air like a swarm of nats. They rode down the wide avenue lined with sapling trees as it turned from dirt to cobblestone. They were stopped at the closed city gates by a phalanx of pikemen, backed longbowmen on the city walls.

Robb Stark stood at the head of the pikemen dressed in a hooded ringmail shirt with a shield painted with a direwolf on one arm and a long sword in his other hand. A dwarf in a black boiled leather jerkin with a lion’s head stitched in gold and a wolf’s head stitched in silver over his heart stood beside Robb. 

Robb Stark’s beard was thicker, and his hair longer than Jeyne Poole remembered. He was tall as a man full grown, broad enough to look quite fit in his armour and strong enough to easily hold the long sword with one hand. The young wolf was the very picture of what a young king should be.

If size alone were the chief measure of a ruler’s worth Tyrion Lannister would not have received an honorable mention from the judges. The Lannister dwarf was little more than half Robb Stark in both height and width. His head and limbs were that of a misshapen child topped with a grown man’s head. 

“Hark!” The dwarf shouted through his small cupped hands. “Who goes there?”

Some of the pikemen and archers sniggered quietly. Robb Stark dropped his sword arm and looked at the shorter man beside him in disbelief. “Hark who goes there? Really Lannister? Can you not do better?”

“What would you have me say Stark?”

“Something a bit more, lordly.” Robb Stark at a loss for words gestured with his sword and shield expressively. “My father would never have shouted at riders like a tower watchmen well into his cups.”

“If I’m murdered for my efforts to impress you, please comfort my wife with the knowledge it was a small price to pay to meet the exacting decorum standards of House Stark.” 

Tyrion strode forward to stand in the middle ground. He cleared his throat then shouted in a commanding voice: “HALT!” Tyrion drew the a dagger from his belt. He waved it lazily at Lady Jeyne and her bannermen like a choir master would his baton.

“You stand before the Lord Paramount of the Winter-Trident. Dismount at once! Unfold your reasons for trespassing upon the peace of this verdant land with a column of armoured horsemen to my satisfaction or find your will to breath cut free from its mortal anchor forthwith!” 

The men quickly dismounted. Lady Jeyne Poole-Bolton waited for Steelshanks Walton to lift her out of the saddle. She went forward quickly to meet Tyrion in the middle ground, flanked by Steelshanks Walton. She gracefully dropped to one knee before Tyrion Lannister with her head bowed. 

“Sire,” she said in her best submissive voice as she drew back her hood and peaked up at the dwarf. “I am your faithful servant Jeyne Bolton. Wife of Ramsay Bolton, who you elevated to Lord of the Dreadfort in place of his traitorous father Roose. Daughter of Vayon Poole who was -”

“Steward of Winterfell for as long as I’ve lived,” Robb Stark finished. He hurried forward raised Jeyne to her feet again and pulled her into a fierce; brotherly hug. 

“Bless my eyes! The god’s mercy be praised! I heard what happened in King’s Landing. I thought you were dead! Sansa said they took you away -”

“Let’s not speak of past sadness now,” Jeyne said hurriedly patting Robb on his back comfortingly and resenting the need to comfort him. 

Robb Stark could have ransomed her, Lord Eddard’s household, and Sansa. He chose to fight. Robb’s pride killed her father as surely as Lord Eddard’s stupidity. Robb Stark was on the long list of people who owed Lady Jeyne a pound of flesh for her suffering.

“Let us rejoice in our reunion!” 

“What happened to you Jeyne? Where have you been all this time?”

She let Robb see the tears standing in her eyes, she let him assume they were tears of joy not tears of frustrated, thwarted, fury. She wanted to claw his eyes out with her nails. How dare he NOW show concern for the suffering he and his father caused? 

Lady Jeyne hated Robb almost as much as she needed him. For now.

“It doesn’t matter! Nothing matters now that I see you safe with my own eyes!” Robb did not really want to know what happened to Jeyne. 

If Robb cared about her, or Sansa or the thirty men who died defending Lord Eddard, he would have saved them before declaring war on the Lannisters. 

“Where is Lady Sansa?” Jeyne asked enthusiastically. “How I long to see her!”

“She’ll be so happy to see you!”

“How is Arya? Your mother?”

“Arya’s still a wilding in a dress. Mother is anxious to hold her first grandchild. She says her arms are aching for it. Did you know I’d married?”

“I’d heard you’re married, but not to who. Anyone I know?”

“Talisa is a lady of Volantis -”

“Where?” Jeyne asked blankly. Sansa was the better student of heralds and geography. Sansa had to memorize the house histories of half the southern Seven Kingdoms because Lady Catlyn refused to betroth her beautiful eldest girl to a northmen. Nothing less than a Warden’s son would satisfy her.

“Is that in the Riverlands?” 

“You know this young lady?” Tyrion asked dryliy; drawing their attention back to him. “Perhaps you’ll do me the honor of introducing us Lord Stark?”

“I’m sorry. Excuse me. Tyrion Lannister, may I present Jeyne Poole -”

“Lord Tyrion Stark-Lannister of Riverrun and Winterfell,”Lord Tyrion said with a courtly bow to Lady Jeyne.

“Lady Ramsay Bolton of the Dreadfort.” Lady Jeyne dropped a low courtesy spreading her skirts in the courtly fashion Queen Cersei had taught her and Sansa during their early golden days in the capital.

“Yes of course. Right. Lady Jeyne Bolton of the Dreadfort, Lord Tyrion STARK-Lannister of Riverrun and Winterfell,” Robb Stark corrected hurriedly. He had never had much concern for anyone else's dignity. At Winterfell Robb Stark called her Pooey Pooley almost as often as Theon Greyjoy had. 

Sure Jeyne called Arya Stark horseface and slip stitch. The horrid little hellion deserved worse for her wicked pranks against them. Arya put sheep shit in Sansa’s and Jeyne’s mattresses. Arya tied their long braids to the bedposts at night then scaring them awake. Arya threw food and mud at them.

Jon, who Jeyne had a crush on until she went south and Ser Dondarrion turned her head - was Robb’s loyal, loving brother. Robb treated Jon like a dirty snow and cozied up to Theon Greyjoy. 

Jeyne’s hand itched to give Robb Stark a good Baelish backhand across his wide grinning mouth. She smiled instead. 

“Welcome to Riverrun, Lady Bolton,” Tyrion said graciously offering her his arm. “I’m sure my lady wife will be delighted to have her long lost friend restored to her.”

“Thank you Lord Stark-Lannister you are very kind,” Jeyne said demurely delicately placing her hand on the back of Lord Tyrion’s offered forearm.

The little man escorted Jeyne back to her horse. He offered her his cupped hands for her to step on then boosted her back into her saddle with surprising strength. No doubt Sansa had trained her new husband in gallant behavior and courtly platitudes. 

Jeyne vaguely remembered Tyrion Lannister manners being not very polished during his visit to Winterfell with King Robert. His body to gainly to indulge in the manly pursuits of hunting and sword practice. His tongue to sharp and his eyes to observant to play the fool for anyone. 

“Rollam!” Lord Tyrion hollered. A young boy, a page Jeyne assumed pushed his way through the pikemen to come running to Lord Tyrion’s side. “Get along to the castle lad. Quick as you are able. Tell my lady wife, Jeyne Poole-Bolton has come. Tell Lord Brynden she’s brought an escort of horsemen.”

“Aye my lord!” The lad doffed his cloth cap and took off. 

Robb Stark brought forth Tyrion’s steed, the late Lord Eddard’s massive white warhorse Snowflake, as horses for the pikemen were lead out. Robb boosted Tyrion into the saddle with a sour look on his face. Then hurried to his own horse as if speeding away would erase the memory of the indignity. 

Jeyne had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing out loud. The proud heir of Winterfell, who strutted about the castle like a young cock amongst the hens; reduced to a bannermen of his dwarf brother in law while the bastard Jon ruled as Regent of Winter. It was hilarious.

The ranks formed up. Tyrion and Jeyne rode forward, with Robb, Jeyne’s handmaid and Steelshanks behind. The Bolton bannermen looked about nervously as they rode in the midst of rows and rows of Stark-Lannister bannermen their former Lord Roose had attempted to murder at the Twins.

The city gates opened and they trotted through at a sedate pace. Just inside the city walls was a wide open field. Two legions of soldiers stripped to their shirts and trousers were grunting through a sword drill while three Masters of Arms walked up and down their lines correcting their form. 

Further down the road a small army of masons and carpenters were constructing a massive stockyard with fences and buildings made of stone. There were a score of massive barns with attached grain silos going up. Each barn boasted an apron of animal pens in neat rows. 

Men and women paused their work as Tyrion passed to salute him and shout “Stark-Lannister!” Tyrion returned their greeting with friendly waves of his hand. 

“Your people love you, my Lord Tyrion,” Jeyne said approvingly.

Tyrion snorted. “Don’t be fooled Lady Jeyne. The same crowd who cheers your coronation will cheer your execution. People like to see a good show. For now they find me entertaining enough to tolerate my rule without rebellion.”

“Even in the far North they say no one is more lively and daring then the Lannister dwarf,” Lady Jeyne said boldly, hoping to provoke Tyrion’s temper a little. “They say you are Lann the lucky reborn.”

The whoremaster Olyvar taught Jeyne a man’s true nature was revealed in his temper. Jeyne had tested the truth of his words with Petyr Baelish, and both Boltons. Slick words and polished manners could not hide what anger revealed. 

Tyrion chuckled warily. “I rode to the Wall just to take a piss. I rode out to face Stannis Baratheon’s army with naught but flaming pig shit and a measly city watch. I rode into the wedding feast mass assassination of my good family without an invitation or a plan at hand-”

“I’m surprised Lady Sansa still lets you ride at all! You seem to head straight to trouble!”

“My lady rides with me wherever I go! Lady Sansa was in the saddle behind me when I rode into the wedding at the Twins. She even rode with me when I led the militia I to chase bandits for a few weeks.”

“Why would she do that?”

“Why not? My wife is hardly a defenseless damsel. She’s deadly with a dagger and a master of the longbow. She can nail a deer through the eye from a quarter mile. When we were chasing bandits I saw my lady drop three men riding at a full gallop one right after the other.”

Sansa was hunting deer and killing men of her own volition? Perhaps Jeyne would not have so much to teach her after all.

“But Sansa hates to sleep out of doors!” Lady Jeyne exclaimed in astonishment, then explained, “She refused to go hunting with her father and brothers for years because camping involved sleeping in tents and using the bushes a privy!”

“My lady does not camp,” Tyrion in a fond imitation of Sansa’s imperious prim tone. “She travels with accommodations appropriate for her comfort and dignity.”

“Such as?”

“A porcelain chamberpot stool the servants set up in a separate tent for her privacy. A collapsible cot that her handmaiden makes up with a feather bed and silk sheets. My lady is most particular about her sleeping arrangements. A trunk for her clothes and dishes with detachable legs to double as a table, and-” 

“You indulge her whims?”

“Course I do. Lady Sansa is my beloved wife. The most precious jewel in my treasure trove. A dewy fragrant rose of virtue stolen from the very gardens of heaven. It is my gods given privilege to pamper and adore my flaming lioness.”

Jeyne smiled at that. So far Tyrion Lannister seemed like a decent fellow; too short and too ugly to be an ideal husband. Thanks to Joffrey, Cersei, and Jamie, Jeyne knew beauty was no gauge of goodness. If Sansa said she liked Tyrion; Jeyne would be the first to wish the couple joy. 

However if Tyrion had hurt Sansa he was going on Jeyne’s list.

Lord Tyrion rode closer to Lady Jeyne and spoke to her quietly. “I am delighted we are finally acquainted Lady Jeyne. My wife has told me your are her oldest, dearest and most trusted companion. She will be pleased to have you at her side again. I welcome you to our court as a friend.”

“I am gratified Lady Sansa still holds me in such high regard. At Winterfell I was closer to Lady Sansa than Lady Arya was.”

“Indeed?”

“We were milk-sisters. Almost always together. When we were separated at King’s Landing Lady Sansa was more concerned for my welfare than for herself. She gave me three gold and ten silver coins to swallow. They eased my way in the world considerably. I owe her more than I can ever repay.”

“I wrote to your husband when I learned to whom you were married. I made it explicitly clear his continued good fortune was contingent upon your health and happiness. Has Lord Ramsay given you a reason for me to withdraw my patronage?”

Lady Jeyne considered what she could say carefully. She was surrounded by Ramsay’s most trusted bannermen. They were loyal but not especially clever men. She remained silent until Lord Tyrion looked at her curiously, waiting for her to respond. 

Jeyne Poole had used Ramsay Bolton’s hunger for legitimacy and power to temporarily align their interest; but she knew it would not last. She was not safe while Ramsay Bolton lived and she wanted to be safe above all things in life.

Lady Jeyne glanced at the dagger on Tyrion’s hip then flicked her gaze to Ser Walton riding behind her.

“Lord Ramsay is his father’s son, my Lord Tyrion: a great warrior after the fashion of all his ancestors.” She stroked the flayed man stitched onto her riding cloak with one hand. “I am fortunate to call him husband. He treasures me above gold and lands. You see for yourself the honor guard I am afforded.”

She drew up the sleeve of the arm closest to Tyrion so he could see the hand shaped bruise on her pale forearm. A parting gift from her husband to remind her where her loyalties should lie. 

“Few women can boast of such loving attention to their safety,” Tyrion agreed watching her shrewdly.

“King Robert could not have loved Queen Cersei more when she bore his golden heirs, than my Lord Ramsay loved me when he brought me before the Weirwood tree to exchange our vows… of course his adoration of me is second only to his leal devotion to you, my Lord Tyrion.”

“I see,” Tyrion said thoughtfully. “We Lannisters always pay our debts. Rest assured, Lady Jeyne I will be sure to give my Lord Ramsay what he’s owed in full at my earliest opportunity.”

“Thank you Lord Tyrion,” Jeyne said courteously, dipping her head respectfully to the dwarf for his kindness. “I am grateful for your wise recognition of my husband’s worth and honor.”

“Aside from you happy marriage, what other news do you bring from the North Lady Jeyne?” Tyrion asked.

“Lord Jon, sent me to hand deliver some letters of great import. Would you like to have them now, or when we arrive at Riverrun my Lord Tyrion?” 

“How many?”

“Two short, one long.”

“Give them to me now. One at a time please. I’ll have time to read them as we ride and think on what they contain undisturbed before we reach the castle.”

Jeyne handed Tyrion a scroll from her leather travel bag without looking. Tyrion checked to whom it was addressed and handed it back to her. “That’s for Lady Catlyn and Lord Robb.” Jeyne looked down in her bag, the other small scroll was addressed to Arya and Sansa. The long one was addressed to Tyrion. 

Tyrion broke the wax seal by cracking it smartly across his knuckles and scraping it briefly with his dagger’s edge before unrolling the long paper. The more he read the more he frowned. 

“What does it say?” Robb Stark asked riding a little closer to Tyrion. 

“We will speak of it in chambers with the full privy council,” Lord Tyrion pronounced with authoritative finality rolling the scroll up tightly in one fist. “Please, do not trouble me for a time Robb,” Tyrion said more gently. “I need to deliberate on these latest developments.”

The young wolf fell silent and dropped back to ride beside Walton again. They rode slowly through Laketon to give the denizens of Riverrun time to hear of and prepare for their arrival while Lord Tyrion considered the contents of his letter in peace. 

Jeyne observed there were a lot of pikemen dressed in Stark-Lannister livery posted throughout the town and a curious lack of beggars or orphans loitering anywhere. The settlement was also conspicuously clean. There were no dung heaps, litter or corpses left in the streets.

Laketon was a nice, unremarkable town. The streets were paved and straight as a carpenter’s tool. The houses were long and flat plaster covered brick or stone blocks on tall legs, with garden plots in vacant lots in between. Coops for chickens and rabbits were built in the shade beneath the houses. 

The market square was cluttered with cloth vendor stalls like a dothraki camp and the large fountain bubbled with clear water. The road between the market and the drawbridge was lined with the proud mansions of the wealthy; raised two stories high with flower gardens blooming on their balconies.

All the smallfolk, merchants and gentry they passed saluted them respectfully as they rode past. Tyrion returned their salutes reflexively, but Jeyne could see was distracted. Jeyne glanced over her shoulder at Robb and Walton; she was not surprised they were not speaking to each other. 

They clattered across the drawbridge, rod beneath the iron proticallus into the stone tunnel beneath the gatehouse. As they entered the courtyard a flock of grooms rushed out to take charge of the horses and a blast of trumpet fanfare announced their arrival at Castle Riverrun. 

Lord Tyrion slide off his horse, stepped onto the bar of the hitching post and nimbly hopped on to the ground without assistance. A bearded redhaired man, formed from the same burly mold as Steelshanks Walton approached them as Ser Walton helped Jeyne off her horse.

“Lord Tully, please see that Lady Bolton’s escort are appropriately accommodated. Gather Podrick, and make our way to my solar without delay. I’ve had news from the North that must be discussed immediately.”

“As you wish Lord Tyrion,” Lord Tully replied with a respectful nod before setting off to hustle the Bolton men off to the barracks. Lady Jeyne was pleased to see Steelshanks Walton firmly directed away from her by a firm friendly hand clamped on his shoulder by Lord Tully. 

Jeyne and Robb walked side by side after Tyrion across the bridges connecting the little islands inside the walls of Riverrun. They passed by workshops, and storehouses through gardens, and pastures. Jeyne was amazed at the completeness of the self-sufficient village inside the castle walls of Riverrun. 

The stained glass windows of the three spiral towers built upon the central island were even more beautiful up close than at a great distance. Servants swung the doors open as they approached. Jeyne gasped in wonder at the beauty of the colored lights playing like diamond fire upon the white walls. 

Jeyne was surprised that Robb Stark did not once attempt to question Lord Tyrion during their walk from the stables to the central tower. In fact Robb Stark deflected people from speaking to Tyrion while the little man walked with his head down and hands clasped behind his back deep in thought. 

She followed after Tyrion watching Robb Stark handle trivial inquiries like her father Vayon Poole, the Steward of Winterfell would have for Lord Eddard Stark. Her handmaiden scurried quietly in Jeyne’s footsteps, still too frightened to speak to her mistress because of the rumors of her predecessor's fate. 

Sansa and Tyrion's apartments were at the top of the central tower. When they arrived Tyrion went into the bedroom where Sansa had hot water and a fresh shirt waiting for him and shut the door. Sansa quickly introduced Jeyne Bolton to her lady in waiting, mistress Jeyne Westerling and her two handmaidens.

Mistress Westerling was sent to fetch Lady Genna, Lady Catlyn and Mistress Arya. Sansa sent Robb Stark to find Ser Bronn Blackwater. When Westerling returned with Bronn, Sansa dismissed her for the evening.Lady Bolton noticed Mistress Westerling frowned a little at being excluded from the privy council while she remained and could not help a little triumphant smirk.

If the free-loader did not know her place, Jeyne Bolton had no problem telling her. Sansa Stark only had one best friend named Jeyne.

By the time Tyrion entered the room in fresh clothes, his council was assembled. Lord Tyrion’s council was his family and closest bannermen. Sansa, her brother, mother, sister, sister in law, and uncles, Tyrion’s aunt and her sons, Ser Blackwater, Ser Payne and Jeyne.

The antechamber of Tyrion and Sansa's apartments was by no means large enough to be a proper audience chamber, but certainly much grander than the audience chamber a Winterfell. 

The walls were lined large hangings: The Lannister Lion, the Tully Trout, and the Direwolf of the North. The floor covered in a sisal rug painted with the Stark-Lannister crest. The ceiling was plastered and gilded in silver.The doors to the balcony were open and Jeyne could see an abundance of potted flowers and a few fluttering ravens and doves in cages.

There was a large desk with a golden writing set upon it and a padded throne like chair behind it. In front of the desk were to straight pack wooden arm chairs with fish heads on the arms and fins for feet. A Sansa's high harp and knitting basket were next to the padded bench front of the fireplace, a tea table and fainting couch were near the windows. 

Tyrion sat on the bench beside Sansa. Jeyn sat beside Sansa, Podrick sat beside Tyrion, and Bronn stood behind them all with his back to the fireplace. The Stark-Tully men preferred to stand in front of the long desk. While Lady Genna, Lady Talisa sat in the arm chairs and Lady Catlyn forced Arya to set beside her on a couch.

Tyrion began thundering as soon as the thick door closed. “The consequences of Lord Eddard’s honorable intentions afflict yet us again,” Lord Tyrion Lannister, Lord Paramount of the Winter-Trident pronounced irritably, shaking the scroll in his hands like an accusation at the Stark-Tully men.

“Has something...untoward befallen Winterfell?,” Lady Sansa asked fretfully turning to her husband. "My brothers?"

“Do not be alarmed my dear,” Tyrion assured his wife patting her hand. 

“Then what is the news that troubles you so my lord husband? Unburden your heart to me if you can.”

“Your brother sent Theon Greyjoy to the Iron Islands to entreat Lord Balon to join the Northern succession from the Seven Kingdoms. The King of the Krakens has taken it as an open invitation to to return to the Old Ways.” 

Lady Genna laughed out loud slapping the arm of her chair. “Your wisdom exceeds your father’s fool boy!”

“That can not be!” Lady Catlyn cried. "We treated Theon like family! Ned looked upon him as a son!"

"You and Lord Eddard would have been better served treating Jon like family!" Tyrion retorted, Lady Catlyn flushed red with anger but said nothing. There was nothing she could say Jeyne supposed. Catlyn had been a rotten mother to her husband's bastard son, instead of addressing her grievance to her bastard making husband.

“You can’t be serious!” Robb Stark declared stricken. “Theon is like a brother to me!”

“The pall of your kracken brother’s perfidy threatens to cover the whole North in a death shroud!”

Tyrion handed the scroll he had just read to his brother in law and watched him read. His mismatched eyes bright with fury. Brynden Tully and Edmure Tully came to stand beside Robb and read over his shoulder. 

A tremor of unease ran through the Stark-Tully-Lannister family, and their closest retainers as though a chill wind from North of the Wall had blown in through the balcony doors. In the Riverlands the Ironborn were the stuff of nightmares, they built Harrenhal from the misery and corpses of Rivermen. 

“What does that mean,” Lady Talisa asked. She looked first to her husband’s suddenly grim face then to her mother in law’s pale countenance. “What are the ‘Old Ways’ of the Ironborn?”

“The Ironborn are reavers,” Lady Genna said. “Always have been, always will be. The only good kraken is a dead kraken. Even my gormless father Tytos knew to hang them first and ask questions latter.”

“What is a reaver?” Lady Talisa asked.

“A pirate,” Ser Podrick said shortly. 

Ser Blackwater went on, “You know, sea-bandits. hey earn their gold and wives by stealing them. They call it the Iron Price.”

“The motto of their ruling house is we do not sow,” Lady Sansa said.

“In times past they pillaged and burned from the free cities to the Wall,” Ser Brynden said. "Scourge of the ocean they was. Some say Aegon the conquerors ancestors were sent by the Valyrian Empire to root the reavers out; but the ships ended up on the wrong side of Westeros and they never found the Iron Islands."

Lord Edmure added. “They ruled the Riverlands like devils until Aegon and his sisters drove them out with dragonfire. Those was dark days. Dark days indeed.”

“After King Robert was crowned they burned Lord Tywin’s entire fleet to the water line. My father and Lord Stannis crushed them,” Arya said emphatically smashing a fist into the palm of her other hand. 

“Father took Theon as a foster son, and Lord Balon had to pay a lot of iron as tribute for his safety,” said Robb Stark.

“Why would Lord Eddard take a viper to his bosom, if he knew these Ironmen to be naught but thieves, rapist and murderers for generations back?” Lady Talisa asked bewildered. “Wouldn’t it have been more prudent to kill them all as the Lannisters did the Reynes and Tarbecks? Dead men don’t rebell.”

“Tywin wanted to impale all the Greyjoys on spikes in retribution for burning his fleet, but Lord Eddard would not stand for it,” said Lady Genna contemptuously. "He said mercy would do more than the sword; and look what's come of it!"

“My father thought Balon’s spirit was broken because he lost two sons and had only one true born son and daughter left,” Lady Sansa explained.

“The fools were satisfied with a trifling petence in reparations so long as most of the surviving reavers accepted lifelong banishment from the Seven Kingdoms. Not to the Wall, mind you. The reavers had leave to sail off into the sunset,” Tyrion said bitterly. “To make our name scum all over the oceans.”

“Eddard hoped that by fostering Theon Greyjoy, he could teach the next Lord of the Iron Islands to be a better man than his father. An honorable trustworthy ally,” Lady Catlyn defended her late husband hotly.

Lady Jeyne watched Lady Sansa glance at her mother out of the corner of her eye. “Perhaps a man worthy of one of his daughters?”

“We will never know now,” Robb said dismissively. “And it hardly matters anyway. I won’t hand Arya to Balon to as a peace offering! Not after he’s betrayed us thrice!”

“I’d rather go to the Wall to freeze my tits off then marry the likes of Theon Greyjoy,” Arya declared resolutely. “I’ve always said he was a no good shifty eyed skirt lifting light fingered fuck up but you would never listen to me!”

Lady Jeyne burst into giggles. Lady Sansa smiled fondly at her sister. Robb Stark admonished, “Arya that’s not a lady like thing to say!”

“He used to pinch the scullery maids on the bottom when they passed by. He spent all his coin on whores and cards -” 

“Not past times I disapprove of,” Tyrion began, but a sharp look from Sansa quelled him. “Before I married and found the sober worship of the gods much more to my liking than a life of drunken debauchery,” Tyrion said quickly.

“Pussy,” Bronn muttered softly.

“Lord rich and powerful pussy of the Trident thank you very much ser,” Tyrion replied just as quietly. 

“Arya!” Lady Catlyn snapped. “If you can’t speak like a lady, hold your tongue!”

“Mother don’t reproach Arya for speaking the truth or she will start to lie,” Lady Sansa rebuked. “What else does the letter say?”

“Victarion Greyjoy sailed up the Saltspear and the Fever River to take Moat Cailin,” Robb Stark glanced up at his brother in law Lord Tyrion who gestured for him to continue reading. “Asha Greyjoy attacked Deepwood Motte. Theon Greyjoy lead twenty men in an attack on Winterfell.”

“The gods have mercy -” Lady Catlyn breathed in fear. She stood up quickly, took a few stumbling steps then her brother Edmure moved quickly to catch her about the waist and ease her back to her seat. “My boys, my babies -”she moaned.

“The fire lord preserve us,” Lady Talisa said covering her mouth with her hands. 

“Lord Tyrion said there was nothing to be upset about!” Lady Arya accused. “Now you say the reavers have sacked three castles - one of them our home!”

“Your brothers and Winterfell are as safe and secure as my father’s gold vaults under Casterly Rock. This I swear to you upon my honor, Lady Arya,” Lord Tyrion promised solemnly. “I anticipated the Ironborn would turn on the North months ago and prepared accordingly. The letter confirms my plans have come off successfully.”

"Thank you Tyrion," Sansa said sincerely. She kissed her husband's cheek gently and he smiled at her.

"Anything for you my darling."

“How could you possibly know Theon was a sneak-fink?” Lady Arya asked surprised. “You only met him once, briefly at Winterfell. I’m sure nobody told you. Everybody but us girls was all calf-eyed over the future Lord of the Iron Islands.”

“I saw enough of young Greyjoy to see he presented a different face to different people. He was rude to Jon. He was vulgar to you and Sansa. He was obsequious to Lord and Lady Stark. He fawned over Robb’s every word and deed like a whore groveling for tips -”

“Greyjoy wants the Iron Price? By the old gods and the new he’ll be paid!” Lord Robb Stark growled. The doves and ravens in their cotes fluttered as the booming voice of the young wolf in a rage washed over them. 

“What do you intend to do?” Lord Edmure Tully asked snidely. “You have no bannermen, Lord Stark. How do you intend to avenge yourself upon the Lord Balon and his hundreds of ships? Howl at them? Perhaps ride your direwolf into the ocean and fight their galley with your bare hands at sea?”

“I’ll ride to Winterfell and take a page from the Bolton book of vengeance,” Robb snarled. “I start by peeling his quisling son, then his whore-spawn daughter, and finally the filthy leviathan he calls a brother. By the time I’m through, that rat bastard Balon will hear their agony all the way in Pyke!”

“Wow,” said Arya looking at her elder brother with new appreciation. “Can I come?”

“NO!” Lady Sansa and Lady Catlyn chorused in unison.

“While I appreciate your enthusiasm Lord Robb, in my experience it is nearly always inadvisable to bring too much emotion - especially strong, negative emotions - into an armed conflict. Emotional people tend to make careless mistakes and bad decisions."

"There is no room for error in war,” Ser Payne said seriously.

“You can’t honestly expect me to be detached and placid when that vile plague boil Kraken; who broke bread and shared salt with me at my father’s table, called me brother a thousand times, has now lead an attempt to slay my brothers in their sleep! Tyrion it is my RIGHT -”

“Robb, contain yourself,” Tyrion said calmly. “The obvious solution to the problem we have with the Iron Islands is to sail there straight away with a massive fleet and butcher the kraken spawn as you suggested.”

“If Robb suggests it, I recommend you question the value of the advice,” Edmure Tully advised. “He lost the war by driving away half his own men.”

“To be sure Robb’s suggestion has value; but it is premature. Lady Sansa, my darling, what is the fifth rule of lordship?”

“Our enemies can only die after they have served a purpose for us and suffered sufficiently to satisfy the debt they owe?” Sansa replied promptly like an eager student.

“Very good my winter wolf. Tell me Robb Stark: how does killing Lord Balon serve our needs?"

"A dead enemy is the best enemy," Ser Bronn said. "and Balon's been begging to be dead for a long while now."

"In my opinion obvious is a deceitful temptation in the world of practical affairs. If we kill him quickly would that satisfy the burning thirst for vengeance parching your soul like the desert sands at noon?”

Robb blinked at the cool cruelty of Tyrion’s tone. “No, I would not be satisfied with just taking his head,” he said slowly considering. “I want Theon to die a hundred deaths for what he’s done.”

“Then it is not enough to simply sail to Pyke and raze it to the ground. The suffering of the Ironborn must be so artistic in it acuity that it stands as an everlasting monument to wrath. A masterpiece of pain and suffering that puts the fear of the gods in our enemies for all eternity.”

“Like Aegon the conqueror’s burning four thousand of men with dragon fire?” Arya asked wickedly

“Worse than even that,” Tyrion folded his hands together over his stomach and smiled with sinister delight that made his in-laws draw back a little. “When I am finished future generations will speak the name Greyjoy when they mean hell-damned.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THE END IS NEAR!


	19. Chapter 19

 We are going in a different direction. Kratos is a tangent that is no more and never was.

Enjoy.

Through a series of (un)fortunate mishaps Lord and Lady Stark-Lannister ended the war between the Starks and Lannisters by capturing both armies, successfully laying siege to the castle of the Lord Paramount, and securing the grudging loyalty of the remaining Riverlords.  Which was all well and good but….

Lord and Lady Stark-Lannister still did not want to be married to each other.

Lady Sansa had a list of four score and nineteen perturbations bedeviling her life. Being married to Tyrion Lannister was on the list.

Just way down, near the bottom.

The ultimate goal of Lady Sansa's five year plan was grinding King Joffrey Baratheon to dust beneath the heel of her boots for commanding her father's public execution.

At the top of her agenda for the day was surviving the feast celebrating her husband's, Lord Tyrion, conquest of the Riverlands and North.

Even six months after the formally cessation of all hostilities between the armies of the West, the North and the Rivers it still felt much to soon to gather her family, the surviving Riverland nobles, the North and Western bannermen cleared of war crimes against the civilian population in the great hall of Riverrun to share salt and break bread together.

Sansa felt it was much too soon.

The wounds of the injured were not completely healed. Grass had not completely grown to cover the barrows of the honored un-named dead. The burned out ruins of three dozen villages razed to ash by Lord Bolton, Ser Clegane, and Hoat still needed to be plowed under or rebuilt.

Yet Sansa's lord husband had insisted all the leading citizens between god's eye and the neck must be compelled by threat of dispossession of their possessions and exile from the Westeros to attend a feast in his honor. 

Since the feast was her husband's idea, Lady Sansa was furiously irritated her to find her mother and not Lord Tyrion when she entered the antechamber outside the great hall of Riverrun with her two guards and her handmaiden Septa Kuthe following behind her.

“Robb, Talisa, Arya, Edmure, Brynden and all the guests are all in the hall. _Where_ is your husband?” Lady Catelyn asked impatiently. “Everyone is waiting!”

"It is fitting that they should wait upon my lord husband. He ** _IS_** Lord Paramount of the Trident,” Lady Sansa reminded her mother. Sansa had faced King Joffrey in all his sadistic glittering glory upon the Iron Throne. Her mother's anger could not cow Sansa anymore.

“In a pig’s eye he is! No matter what that _impudent_ pygmy calls himself:  **I** am Lord of the Trident!!”Edmure Tully declared striding into the ante chamber with his Uncle Brynden close behind him. 

“Keep talking. When those Hill Men behind little Sansa thump your hollow head against the wall _again_ I'll laugh long and hard,” Lord Brynden warned.

Master Six-killer and Master Blackfoot cracked their knuckles and grinned at Edmure threateningly. 

Lord Tyrion had won over the First Men of the Hills and Mountains by offering them an escape from their hard scrabble life herding goats, and thieving in the Vale of Arryn. In exchange for their fealty, Tyrion had given the Hill Tribes a permanent home in the Riverlands. 

Having stone houses to shelter their children, pasture for their flocks, and fields to plant meant the world to the Hill Tribes and it was only Tyrion's disapprobation that kept them from murdering everyone who disrespected the Lord Stark Lannister or his lady wife. Sansa knew of at least ten people at the feast who would happily have Edmure's tongue out of his head if Tyrion so much as frowned in his direction.

“You stood by and didn’t raise a hand in my defense the last time it happened!”

“Ungrateful beardless scrape-grace! You deserved it! How dare you cry like a tot denied his mother's tit over losing this castle when good men have lost limbs or died fighting in your name! Your behavior disgraces their sacrifice!”

“I honor those who fought and bled for me! I scorn you! I wish I could revoke your knighthood. You don't deserve to be called a champion of he Riverlands, after failing the House of Tully so spectacularly!”

“I fought Tywin Lannister and all his host for you! I fought for your father! I’ve bled more for the house of Tully than -”

“I’ll just go see what’s keeping Tyrion. Excuse me.” Lady Sansa quickly ducked out of the room followed by her escort. Ever since they were released from confinement and brought together again, all her family seemed to do was bicker like children.

Lady Sansa was beginning to wonder why she had wanted to go home so badly - then she caught herself.

“Septa Kuthe we must pray.”

 

“Yes we must Lady Sansa, the gods will bring peace -”

 

“No, Septa Kuthe we must pray now.”

 

“Here your grace?” Kuthe asked bewildered looking around the empty stairwell.

 

“Yes here. Now.” Sansa went to her knees and Septa Kuthe dropped to her knees beside her and began reciting the liturgy of the Seven Gods earnestly.

 

Sansa prayed feverishly.

 

She was grateful to the gods her family was not dead.

 

She was grateful to the gods she and her family were safe.

 

She to was grateful to the gods to have an army of loyal men with sharp swords.

 

She was grateful to the gods for a castle with strong walls.

 

She would remember her suffering at King’s Landing and be kind to those under her authority.   


She prayed for strength.

 

She prayed for patience.

 

She prayed for wisdom.

 

She prayed the food would not be cold by the time she found Tyrion. Lady Sansa really did not like eating cold meat. Nothing was worse than beef surrounded by solid white waxy goblets of fat floating in grease.

 

When Septa Kuthe said ‘amen’ Lady Sansa crossed herself in seven directions then got to her feet and continued on her way. She anticipated having to coax her husband to dinner. She asked Septa Kuthe and the Hill men to wait for her in the hallway while she went into her solar fetch Tyrion.

 

She found her husband sorting through a pile of his clothes on the bed, tossing some into a satchel and the rest on the floor. Ser Payne and Ser Blackwater sat on the bench by the fireplace looking peevish. They had travel packs on, and packed saddle bags at their feet.

 

“What are you doing?”

 

“I’m packing my bags to leave.”

 

“Leave? Where are you going?”

 

“To Bravos to be with Shae, we talked about this -”

 

“You can’t go NOW! You can’t walk out the door with what’s left of the Riverlords and their families downstairs waiting on you to start eating a victory feast in your honor!”

 

“Yes I can. I’m not a prisoner here, I can leave anytime I want.”

 

Lady Sansa was not stupid, and she was an excellent student when the subject interested her. Lady Sansa had listened attentively to all Tyrion told her about effective public speaking, persuasion, and debate. She immediately switched arguments.

 

Tyrion may not want praise from angry strangers, but he certainly did not want innocent people to die.

 

“Tyrion if you leave now, fighting break out tomorrow.”

 

“Not necessarily.”

 

“Yes necessarily! Bronn tell him!”

 

“The Western men and North men will have a go at each other on principle. The Hill men will steal what they can carry, burn what they can’t and bugger off to the Vale.”

 

“The castle is full of women and children Lord Tyrion. We are knights. Sworn to protect the defenseless. We should not leave defenseless civilians in the middle of three way battle waiting to happen,” Ser Podrick said solemnly.

 

“What do you expect me to do?” Lord Tyrion said throwing up his hands.“I couldn’t make my own family like me! What makes you think I can make these people like me? I mean obey my rule!” Tyrion corrected quickly.

 

Lady Sansa felt her husband’s pain like Ser Trent’s punch to her gut.

 

Lady Sansa’s clever, confident husband, the hero of Blackwater Bay, the Hand of the King, the Master of Coin, the conqueror of the Riverlands, the little golden Lion of Lannister who walked with a swagger even the arrogant King Joffrey could not match - was insecure.

 

He feared rejection and public humiliation.

 

Sansa’s heart melted with compassion for the dwarf she had married.

 

What Sansa suffered in King’s Landing, Tyrion had suffered all his life.

 

Tyrion was damned by the gods to be rejected by his family for something he did not do and rejected by the world for something he could not change.

 

On the heels of Sansa’s insight into her husband came another revelation.

 

Tyrion had a lot in common with her brother Jon Snow.

 

Her mother, Lady Catelyn was King Joffrey to Jon Snow.

 

Lady Sansa was Queen Cersei.

 

Lady Sansa blinked back tears. Now was not the time for self pity.

 

The people of the Riverlands needed Tyrion, and Tyrion needed Sansa to bolster his confidence.

 

Sansa silently vowed on her life she would make amends with her brother Jon. As soon as the feast was over she would write to Jon. She would apologize and beg for forgiveness.

 

She would support Tyrion’s idea of making Jon Lord of Winterfell. He was calm and wise like her father. Jon would make a better Lord Paramount of Winter than Robb.

 

Lady Sansa walked over to her husband and knelt behind him. She wrapped her arms around his waist and put her forehead against the space between his shoulders were his spine met the top of his back. Tyrion placed his hands on top of Sansa’s arms and sighed tiredly. His arms were short, but strong.

 

Tyrion held Sansa safely in place during the long nights they rode across the Riverlands without stopping. Sansa rested her head on her husband when she rode behind Tyrion on the back of her father’s warhorse Snowflake and Tyrion said it was safe for her to sleep.

 

Tyrion was not a knight in shining armour, but he was a good man and he had the potential to be a great lord.

 

“Have I not done all that I promised, my lady? What do you want from me?”

 

“You have a rare gift my lion. You can bring people together: people who hate each other, people who don’t even like you - to serve a common purpose. I need your help to put together what’s been torn asunder by hate and pain. With your leadership, this fragile peace will hold. The people of the Riverlands will prosper.”

 

“That sounds like years of work. What if I would rather retire to some place warm and safe where I can lay my head in Shae’s lap without worrying someone might kill me?”

 

“If that is your wish, then I will pack your bags myself. I’ll send you to Shae with a glad heart and pray daily your life is long, prosperous and happy. You deserve all the blessings the gods can grant. You are a good man Tyrion.”

 

Tyrion was silent for a long while. Finally he asked softly, “Would you really?”

 

Sansa kissed his cheek affectionately. “Absolutely. You are my friend and mentor. You have done more for me and mine than I could ever have hoped or imagined. I am and shall always be grateful to you Tyrion Lannister. Thank you. For everything.”

 

“Stark-Lannister...I hate leaving a job half done. I will stay for a little while. To help you get this house in order.”

 

“You will?”

 

“Yes. In a few months when things are sorted out, we will send for a member of the Most Devout, have our marriage annulled and I will be on my way. Deal?”

 

“Deal.”

Lord and Lady Lannister went down to diner. Hill Tribesmen with crossbows stood two deep in the balconies above to keep order. 

The few remaining Riverlords, widows, orphans, North and Western banner men in the great hall  watched the representatives of the Lannister, Stark, and Tully open hostility. These people were the direct cause of their most recent financial misfortunes and family tragedies. 

 

Lord Tyrion had already ordered the execution of the Lord Bolton's skin flaying henchmen, the Mountain Clegane and his men. There was no telling who he would ordered killed next or how much gold he would demand for their ransom. If the war had been hell, the peace would surely kill them all.

Instead Lord Lannister lead his wife to the high chair kissed her hand and whispered. "What ever happens do not leave your seat. Everything will be fine. I promise."

 

Tyrion went around the head table to stand on the stairs leading up to the dais where everyone could see him.

 

"Survivors of the war: that is what we all are for there are no victors here. We have all lost something or someone. We have all seen horror. Endured pain. Suffered things we do not want to speak of. Perhaps done thing we hope the gods can forgive us for. 

 

There is no going back to the time before. When we were fools, who did not know how blessed we were to have peace and security. When we did not know that there are surely fates worse than death, and people in this world more evil than all the devils in hell. 

 

No. We can not go back...but we can go forward. Together.

 

All the men in this hall have killed in the name of the Lords they serve, but they are not guilty of the atrocities that were committed against innocent civilians. Almost all the women in this hall have lost men to this war: Fathers, husbands, sons, brothers, cousins, lovers. 

 

I want every man in this hall, to go to three women. Look them in the eye and apologize for the men you've killed...I will go first."

The people stared at Tyrion as if he were mad. He paid them no mind. He went down the stairs, to the nearest women, a matron in a faded green dress and confessed. "Madam. I have killed men in the Riverlands. I gave them all a clean death. I am sorry for the pain I caused you. I am sorry for the loss you've suffered -"

The women in the green dress slapped Tyrion hard across the face and burst into tears. Her two daughters hurried to her side to comfort her. One of them slapped Tyrion too. She sobbed hysterically and screamed angry abuse at him. Their family lost two brothers, and their father. They were good men. They did not deserve to die.

 

Tyrion let the women rage at him without flinching or protest. When their hysteria had quieted to sobs, he moved on to the next family and repeated the process.

After Tyrion was slapped for the fifth time, Robb Stark and Brynden Tully left the head table and started apologizing to the widows and orphans in the great hall. They were slapped and spat on. They were cursed and kicked. They had to restrain a few angry wives in vice like hugs to keep from being clawed, but they kept at it.

While Sansa watched to frightened to move, slowly the other men of the North, the Rivers and the West began going round apologizing to the women whose lives they had ruined by killing their men, their son, their husbands, their brothers, uncles, nephews and cousins.  

Sansa watched her husband go from person to person to personally apologizing for the hell they had been put through. Everyone was crying, and hugging, and shouting, and screaming and hysterically howling with pain. Sansa imagined this was what the choirs of hell must sound like. It went on for hours and hours and hours.

Dinner was supposed to start at seven. 

When the butler asked Sansa nervously what to do at ten o'clock she told him to throw all the food away and start from scratch. It was the right decision.

The people were not ready to calmly sit down to eat until three in the morning.

When Tyrion finally made it back to Sansa's side his face was bruised and swelling. Yet Tyrion still smiled when he raised his glass for a toast.

"To my loving, patient partner in life, Lady Sansa Stark-Lannister: affectionate friend, a wise counselor, and a fierce warrior with impeccable manners...The gods bless you and keep you my lady, as you have blessed and kept me! To Lady Sansa!"

"Lady Sansa! Lady Sansa" the crowd shouted back.

After that the Stark-Lannister victory feast was a boisterous success.

Time passed. Life resettled into the steady rhythms of peaceful orderly living.

Lady Sansa reconciled with her brother Jon and ordered violent punishment for anyone who mocked her lord husband. People came to respect and appreciate the justice and wisdom of the Stark-Lannisters.

The Riverlands began to prosper.

The months turned into a year and still the none of the Most Devout could find time to journey to the Riverlands to wait upon the Lord and Lady Stark-Lannister. Lord Tyrion was annoyed, but to busy with his businesses, running the Riverlands, and baiting Edmure Tully to give he matter much attention.

Finally, Lord Tyrion asked his lady wife to write to the High Septon. Perhaps she could persuade the Most Holy to send finally one of the Most Devout so that the Stark-Lannister union could be dissolved and Tyrion could be on his way to Shae in Bravos.

Lady Sansa had 99 problems. Being married Tyrion Lannister was still at the bottom of the list.

Lady Sansa fully intended to have her marriage annulled.

Eventually.


	20. Chapter 20

The Dragon Pit a top Rhaeny’s Hill was a flame scorched ruin. A crown of red brown stone topped by broken arches like skeletal fingers reaching up to grasp the sun. It cast shade over a quarter of the city. The sealed iron-banded bronze doors were still magnificent, even tarnished green black.

The doors were wide enough for thirty mounted knights to ride through side by side in full armour. Tall enough for Maegor’s dragon, Balerion the Black Dread to walk through with his head held high.

Maegor the Cruel had commissioned the metal workers to display the Targaryen family history upon the many panels that made up the front of the massive metal doors.

Each one depicted a different scene from the Targaryen’s past in beautiful detail: dragons with wings spread wide in flight, sea serpents churning the ocean to froth topped waves with their coils, airy Valyrian castles, mystics in long robes engaged in magic rites, beautiful kings and queens.

It was a feast for the eyes Lady Sansa would have much preferred to what she was expected to turn her attention to.

Tyrion held Sansa’s hand as they climbed the wooden steps that lead up to a roped off section of the stands. It was decorated like a harem with piles of cushions, bronze pots of burning incense to ward off flies and low tables laden with food beneath a canopy decorated with a golden lion and silver wolf.

“It’s very simple. Politics is the name of the game. The law or accepted custom are the rules by which the game of politics is played, and public opinion is what allows you to cheat,” Tyrion explained succinctly. “War resets the game to start, but the Game of Thrones never truly ends. Not so long as two men live and there is only one throne.”

“That is a very arbitrary way to govern, my lord,” Sansa said disapprovingly.

Septa Kuthe helped Lady Sansa settle comfortably in the nest of pillows. The Kuthe rearranged the delicate lace veil the Most Devout Abbotess of the Silent sisters had gifted to Lady Sansa at the Sept of Baelor so that it covered her face to the chin so that Sansa could eat.

“It can be arbitrary if the king or the power behind the throne is not strong enough to keep the royal court and regional wardens unified in purpose and loyalty,” Tyrion agreed. Squire Payne poured him a goblet of wine then went to stand at the back of the pavilion next to Septa Kuthe.

“The power behind the throne? I thought kings were the ultimate authority in the land?”

“My dear the only ultimate power is death. A strong Hand of the King can make even a crazy monarch seem sane. They did not start calling King Aerys mad until my father Tywin left his service.”

“Do you think Joffrey will keep Lord Tywin as his hand after he comes of age?”

Tyrion laughed heartily and slapped his thigh. “Gods no, my girl. I would be surprised if Joffrey doesn’t attempt to have my father assassinated at some point very soon.”

“His own grandfather?” Sansa said aghast. “Surely not!”

“Joffrey tried to kill me while I was defending the city from Stannis Baratheon. It is only a matter of time before he turns on the rest of my family. If they believe otherwise, then they are utter fools. After I drop you off with your family, I am getting the hell out of Westeros while the getting is still good.”

It was customary for a lord to hold a feast for his peers and a revel for his smallfolk to celebrate his wedding.

Lord Tywin and Queen Cersei considered their duty to Tyrion and Sansa discharged with the small wedding feast they held at the Red Keep directly after Stark-Lannister wedding.

It fell to Tyrion Lannister to arrange and pay for his own nuptial revel. In his usual way, Lord Tyrion turned the indifference of his family to his advantage.

Lord Tywin’s youngest son was Master of Coin, Comptroller of the Royal Accounts and Expense Ledgers. Lord Tyrion added the expense of his revel into the bloated cost of the upcoming royal wedding between King Joffrey and the Lady Margaery Tyrell.

Lord Tyrion chose to throw his party in the plaza of the dragon pit that faced the massive bronze doors.

Although the dragon pit had fallen into ruin from years of neglect, the neighborhood of Rhaeny’s Hill that surrounded Dragon Square was still beautiful; now the home of the richest merchants and minor nobility in the Crownlands instead of Targaryen concubines, bastards and dragon handlers.

The private homes facing Dragon Square were all red stone like the Red Keep. Tall, narrow rectangles joined together shoulder to shoulder like soldiers in tight formation. Each had tall arched windows on either side of a tall bronze door and wide front steps.

Each had a second story with a wall of arched windows set back from the edge twenty feet to make room for a garden terrace of lush flowering foliage that spilled edge like bubbles over the rim of a scented bath.

The dwarf Master of Coin had paid back every dragon, stag, and copper penny the Iron Throne owed its wealthy citizens. Lord Tyrion was considered a friend of the city guilds, merchant families, and gentry.

The homeowners of Rheany’s Hill were more than happy to hang Stark-Lannister lion-wolf heralds on their homes and watch the small folk enjoy the revel in Dragon Square from their terraces.

The Dragon Square was more than large enough to contain the boisterous crowd that thronged in from all over King's Landing to drink the vats of golden Reach mead on tap, eat the soft buttered honey buns made from white flour, and roasted bulls Lord Tyrion provided.

However before the bulls could be roasted, they had to first be killed.

A day of bullfighting was a much cheaper entertainment than a full three day tournament. It had the added advantage of providing food for the spectators and being more popular with the common folk, wealthy merchants, and gentry than the war like sports of kings and lords.

The first bull was black. It came charging into the wooden arena built in the middle of Dragon Square. It kicked up a spray of gravel and a cloud of dust with its hooves as it ran around the edge of the ring. It snorted like a blacksmith’s bellows stoking the flames of the forge.

The crowd of small folk in the wooden seats encircling the bullring were on their feet in an instant. They shook the with the stands with their stamping feet. They excited the bull to a head tossing fury with their deafening shouts and excitedly waved colored scarves.

Lady Stark-Lannister could not help clinging to her husband’s forearm. Sansa felt the vibration of the crowd’s excitement in her bones thought the viewing stand.

“Have faith my dear. The these stands will not fall to pieces,” Tyrion promised his new wife patting the top of Sansa’s hand reassuringly.

“How can you be so certain? Is carpentry one of your many talents my lord?”

“This is the base of the royal wedding pavilion. It was designed to support the weight of the royal ego, the combined weight of the royal courtiers and all their decorative trimmings. It will easily hold up a few hundred malnourished peasants for the duration of today’s merry bloodsport.”

“This is so barbaric. Could you think of no other way to celebrate our marriage?”

“Would have preferred a tournament my dear?”

“No.”

“Oh? I was lead to believe you are an ardent fan of golden knights in shining armour.”

“King Robert held a tournament in my father’s honor when we first arrived in the capital. I found nothing amusing in the brutality of men bashing each other senseless with swords and lances.”

“I heard about that tournament. Wish I had witnessed it. What did you think of the trick Ser Loras played on the Mountain Clegane to win the joust Lady Sansa?”

“Ser Loras was wrong to cheat, but Ser Clegane over reacted to the loss. He tried to kill Ser Loras, until his brother the Hound and King Robert intervened. Then he killed his horse in a fit of rage. Struck the head from its body with a single blow.”

“Don’t judge Ser Loras’ lack of honor too harshly. The Mountain Clegane has done much worse to men and women than he did to that horse...Ser Clegane and his mountain men raped my first wife to death...on my father’s command of course.”

Lady Sansa stared at her husband’s profile in open mouthed shock. Lady Sansa pulled away from her husband and tugged her veil completely over her face. She had lost her appetite.

“Stark-Lannister! Stark-Lannister! Stark-Lannister!” the crowd roared.

The bull ran round the ring faster in angry confusion. His tail held up like a flag behind him. Men with javelins took their places at the top of the wall. Each spear was tied with a different ribbon.

“Smile and wave for the small folk my dear. These good people expect a show from us and the bulls. We must not disappoint them. They won’t have the opportunity to stare at their betters again until Joffrey and Margaery unite in matrimonial strife.”

Lady Sansa was glad her face was hidden. She could not listen to Tyrion and pretend to be happy. She obediently waved woodenly to the crowd.

Smiling broadly Lord Tyrion saluted the crowd with his wine cup. The men on the walls began launching their spears the the bull.

The panicked animal ran to and fro; dashing forward and turning sharply to escape the blades falling on him from every direction. He bellowed in pain when the sharp knives split his dark skin like claws when they missed or dug deep into the meat of his muscle when they struck home.

The crowd cheered for their favorite javelin throwers and shouted scorn at those who missed the target with equal volume.

Lady Sansa did eat meat, but she did not like seeing the bull killed in this way. It was cruelty for the sake of entertainment. Like when Joffrey had Sansa beaten or humiliated her before the court.

“How can you say that with a smile on your face! Didn’t you love her? How could your father do that? Why -”

“Yes I loved my wife. If not for my Uncle Gerion, I would have followed her and my child into the afterlife. As for why-” Tyrion drank deeply from his wine goblet. “My father did not approve of my low born wife. My presumption that I could marry for love and...he hates me. Passionately.”

“Tyrion that can’t possibly be true -”

“My father feels about me the way you feel about Joffrey. I killed his wife coming into this world and he has never forgiven me for it. He hates me. I’ve always known that. I just didn’t want to believe it. I thought prayer and good works would soften his heart in time,” Tyrion said bitterly. 

There was nothing Lady Sansa could think to say to that.

She watched her husband drink his wine and wave to the crowds as if nothing was wrong. It was hard not to think there was something seriously wrong with the man at her side. It was unnatural to be so perfectly calm while so full of long festering hate.

“My first wife paid dearly for my foolish naivete. If you cooperate with me during our journey to your family, and take heed to all my advice, I will teach you how to avoid a similar fate.”

It was essentially the same thing Lord Tyrion had told Lady Sansa the night before, but finding out how his first wife died made Sansa more eager and anxious for Tyrion to share his wisdom with her.

What happened to her during the Food Riot was never far from her mind. The near rape often haunted her nightmares. Sansa could easily imagine how the first Lady Tyrion Lannister was murdered by the Mountain Clegane and his men.

“What, what do you want me to do?” Lady Sansa asked frightened.

“Listen and learn: the key to outwitting your enemies is to know their strengths and weaknesses as well as you know your own. Carefully picking when and where your confrontations take place. Knowing what you are willing to sacrifice to achieve victory, and what constitutes victory.”

The bull was peppered with eight long staffs before he went to his knees and could not rise again.

“Why are you interested in helping me? How do you profit from making me able to defend myself when you are leaving Westeros to be with Shae in Braavos?”

“You are applying what I’ve taught you! Very good!”

“You haven’t answered the question.”

“Our union is temporary and mutually undesired, but I am still obligated by the vows I swore on my honor to attend to your welfare. After I’ve gone east, I hope your goodwill towards me will extend to my niece Myrcella and nephew Tommen. Unfortunately, I can’t take them with me immediately.”

“Why are you worried about Prince Tommen and Princess Myrcella? They are the most heavily protected people in the realm.”

“So where Princess Rhaenys and Prince Aegon. You know what became to them.”

Ser Bronn leapt over the wall when it was clear the bull was beginning the slow process of bleeding to death. Ser Blackwater strode over to the animal and took a position behind it. When Ser Bronn lifted the bull’s head by one horn his hand could not completely encircle it.

Ser Bronn drew one of his new Valerian steel daggers from the top of his boot. He thrust the blade straight into the animal’s right eye with one violently powerful motion. The bull's body jerked and went still.

Ser Bronn pulled his dagger free. He wiped it clean on he bull's side before tucking it back into his boot. Then Ser Blackwater braced a foot against the bull's carcass to wrenched the javelins out of its back.

The wooden gate swung open. A half dozen butchers in leather aprons holding sharp knives that cast off light like mirrors reflecting sunlight rushed into the bull ring followed by a half dozen boys with wheelbarrows.

The butchers cut the bull into slabs of bright red meat. They piled the chunks of meat dripping with blood, bones, hide and organs in the waiting hand carts.The boy hauled the meat and offal to the cook fires as fast as their heavy burdens would allow. Before long the smell of roasting beef filled the square.

The butchers and boys worked until the bull was naught but a blood stain in the gravel. By then Ser Bronn had gathered up all the javelins. He counted the colors and returned them to their owners. Ser Blackwater shouted the name of the victorious spear men to the thunderous applause of the spectators.

“That’s our cue,” Lord Tyrion said struggling his way out of his soft cradle of bedding.

Lady Sansa got to her feet with a little difficulty. She offered her husband her hand then tugged Tyrion up to his feet. Septa Kuthe and Squire Payne hurried forward to follow their master and mistress to the rope rail.

“I’ll let you do the honors. Three silver stags for the winner. One silver stag for the runner up.”

Lord Tyrion handed Lady Sansa his money purse. Lady Sansa fished the coins out of the bottom of the heavy leather pouch. She handed the bag back to Tyrion and held the money ready in her two closed fists.

The sweaty javelin throwers knelt before them. Tyrion made a short speech congratulating their victory.

Then the men came forward, one at a time to kiss the hem of Sansa’s golden dress, receive their silver reward and backed away with their heads lowered.

A capricious noble might kill a peasant for disrespectfully turning their back on them or raising their eyes to them.

The crowd cheered, whistled and clapped at the end of the ritual. Lady Sansa, Lord Tyrion, Septa Kuthe, and Squire Payne returned to the pavilion where Lord Varys and Ser Blackwater were lounging upon the pillows passing the wine pitcher.

“Lord and Lady Stark-Lannister,” Lord Varys raised a glass to them. “Sorry for coming late. Affairs of state have no regard for my personal life or social calendar I’m afraid.”

Lord Tyrion snorted rudely. “Affairs of state _are_ your personal life Lord Varys.”

Tyrion flopped himself gracelessly upon the pillows beside Varys.

"I'm glad you came my friend. Podrick, Kuthe let's not stand on ceremony. Sit. Eat. Drink with us."

"I'm surprised your brother is not here," said Lord Varys.

"Jamie's duties do not allow him much leisure time."

"Translation: he's keeping the queen company," Ser Bronn whispered to Squire Payne.

"Shhh!" Ser Payne hissed.

"I'm sure your brother would be here if he could, my lord," Lady Sansa said comfortingly.

Lady Sansa folded herself down beside Lord Tyrion. Septa Kuthe settled beside her. Squire Payne loaded plates of food from the table and brought them over to the group, then brought another wine jug and more food before sitting behind Tyrion and Varys.

“Lord Varys I hope you received my note,” Lady Sansa said.

“I did indeed Lady Sansa. Your prose and penmanship are equally beautiful.”

“They are nothing compared to the harp you gifted me. Thank you Lord Varys. I’ve never owned anything so lovely before.”

“It seemed a fitting gift for a young woman fit to be a queen. Wouldn’t you agree Lord Tyrion?”

“My Lady Sansa may be worthy of a crown, but she has more sense than to sit upon a throne made of swords were one false move could prove fatal. Isn’t that right my clever darling?”

“My heart longs for no treasure greater than your love, my lord husband.”

“The little bird has learned to sing a new song,” Ser Bronn muttered to Squire Payne as the crowd cheered for the next bull charging though the gate. Lady Sansa pretended she could not hear.

The fresh smell of blood enraged the animal. It charged the walls of the bull ring. It struck the wooden boards so hard one horn broke off at the tip.

The impact shook some of the javelin throwers from their places. They fell backwards off their perches, and were mocked by the drunken crowd.

Lord Tyrion gave the signal and the assault began.

The bull hit the wall again. One of the javelin throwers tumbled over head over heels onto the gravel floor of the bull pen.

The bull charged him.

The man narrowly missed being gored to death and trampled when he rolled out the way. The crowd screamed in drunken hysteria.

Lady Sansa frantically grabbed her husband by the arm and shook him with all her might. “For the Mother’s sake DO something before he’s KILLED!”

“Yes, yes ALRIGHT! DO let me go women!” Tyrion said slapping Sansa’s hands away. “Bronn if you would please sir. Save that luckless half-wit before my wife breaks my neck!”

The bull skidded in the loose grit, turned round and gave chase.

A shower of spears rained down upon the bull one of them went further than intended. It nicked the leg of the man running for his life.

He stumbled. He skipped across the dirt on his chest and belly like stone skipped across water. Then scrambled backwards on hands and feet like a crab.

“It’ll cost you. Five gold dragons.”

“One dragon.”

“Three.”

“One and a quarter.”

"I can't believe you'd haggle over a man's life!" Lady Sansa said appalled.

"Why not? If I HAVE to buy it, I'd rather not pay full price for it."

"Please Lord Tyrion. Think of his family!" Septa Kuthe cried. 

"Fine. One and a half."

"Two and a half."

"You paid a gold dragon for a dire wolf pup not four hours ago," Ser Payne protested. "Surely the man is worth more?"

“Better take the deal, Lord Tyrion,” Lord Varys urged. “Or the man will be dead and you will still be negotiating.”

"I don't know that man! What's it to me if he dies? Two and a tenth."

The bull dipped its head and lifted the man with its horns. The body went up, over the bull's back in a limp, floppy toss like a rag doll flung out a window.

The crowd gasped with horror. They shouted at the javelin throwers. They banged violently on the walls of the bull right with their fists to draw the bull’s attention away from the wounded man. They jumped up and down waving their arms like excited monkeys locked in a small cage.

"Two and a half. Take it or leave it."

“TYRION!” Lady Sansa whacked her husband with a pillow knocking him over. "For the _Maiden's sake **PAY**_ him what he asks!"

“Fine. Put it on my bill. Just go - Gods women you are expensive and violent!” Lord Tyrion complained.

“Thanks red lady! Hold this Pod,” Bronn commanded.

Bronn tossed Podrick the sheath of his new Valerian steel long sword, then stepped over Varys out of the pillows.

Bronn bounded down the stairs three at a time, vaulted over the rope rail and wooden wall in a single leap landing with knees braced in the ring.

Ser Blackwater shook he half cape off his shoulders. Bronn held the fabric at arm's length in front his body with one hand and his long sword high by the hilt pointed down like a dagger in the other hand.

Ser Bronn shouted at the animal and shook the cape enticingly to draw its attentiong. Then Bronn waited. He stood straight and tall like a dancer waiting for the first note of music to move.

The snorting bull turned from the man - groaning, holding his ribs, struggling to get his up to his knees - to charge at Bronn with horns lowered. Five spears dotted the hump of the bull's back. The colored ribbons whipping from their ends like frantic snake tails.

As the animal bore down on Ser Bronn, he took a hop-step to the side.

With a wide flourish of fabric he directed the bull into a tight circle behind his body. As the animal came around his hip, Ser Bronn thrust his sword down, into the bull’s thick neck, directly behind its skull.

The Valerian steel punctured the thick meat of the bull's neck with an arterial spray of blood that splattered the gravel like champagne from a shaken bottle. The bull’s body dropped to the ground heavily with the thud of a felled log. It slid a few feet in the gravel before stopping.

The crowd went wild with jubilation.

“Gracious was it this thrilling the first time?” Lord Varys asked fanning himself vigorously. "I'm sorry I missed a minute of the excitement."

“Never mind what you’ve missed. There are five more bulls to kill before the horse racing begins. Now that will be something to see.” Lord Tyrion settled himself in the pillows again next to Lord Varys and Squire Payne instead of his wife.

“Why’s that my Lord Tyrion?” Squire Payne asked passing out more plates of food out. Lord Tyrion took a plate of lemon cakes and strawberries. He reached across Lord Varys to hand the deserts to his wife, who blushed as she accepted it.

“The ale barrels were tapped while we were still at the Sept. I have no doubt everyone in this crowd, the jockeys and their horses included, are drunk as drowned fish. Podrick go announce I’ll give ten silver stags to the man who can stay on his horse long enough to finish all the races! No, no I’ve had enough today. Thank you.”

Tyrion waved away the goblet of wine Lord Varys offered him. Lord Varys glanced at Lord Tyrion with eyebrows raised in genuine surprise for moment then raised his glass in salute to Lady Sansa.

"To the Lady Sansa Stark-Lannister: protector of hapless men, and champion of merciful justice!"

Everyone else raise their glass to second the toast. "To Lady Sansa!"

 

 

 


	21. Chapter 21

The Lannister pikemen on either side of the door watched impassively as Lady Sybil Westerling approached.

 They gave no sign of knowing who Lady Westerling was or wondering why she had come to the the Queen’s Court of Justice in the evening. Alone.

 “What is your business here mistress?” one guard asked.

 “I have a summons from the Hand of the King,” Lady Sybil replied handing him a scroll with a broken wax seal.

 The guard glanced over the document nodding to himself.

 “This is a summons from Lord Tywin,” the red cloak told his companion, who immediately reached for the door latch.

 

Lady Sybil reached out and lay a hand on the guard's forearm to stop him. “A moment, please sir.”

 

“As you like,” he replied dropping his hand. “But gather yourself quickly, his lordship does not care to be kept waiting.

 

Lady Westerling was a proud merchant’s daughter. Before Mistress Sybil Spicer married young Lord Gawen Westerling she was one of Master Cyril Spicer’s best caravan leaders.

 

Lady Sybil could handle the reins of a loaded six mule wagon like a teamster, and she had made a fortune for her father negotiating with men who thought they could cheat and bully a woman of low birth.

 

Lady Sybil had never hesitated to plunge into a confrontation until she hesitated before the closed double doors of the Queen’s Court in the tower of the King’s Hand; but never before had she so much at stake.

 

Finally the red cloak on the right asked in a bored voice, “Shall I announce you to his grace now? Or will you come back tomorrow?”

 

Taking a deep breath, to firm her nerves Lady Sybil said,” please do kind sir.”

 

She shrugged out of her travel cloak and handed it off to one of the guards.

 

The red cloaks both reached for a door latch and shoved inward. Lady Sybil strode into the chamber with her head held high with the assured confidence of a powerful Western lord's wife.

 

The Castle Crag and the Westerling family who held it could trace their origins to a time before the Lannisters. Back when the Casterly family ruled Casterly Rock. By marriage Lady Westerling, at least, she was superior to the Lions of Casterly Rock.

 

Her stride faltered when she heard how she was announced.

 

“Queen Cersei, my Lord Tywin and commanders of the Golden Horde, presenting Mistress Sybil, wife of Master Gawain Westerling!”

 

Lady Sybil whirled to rebuke the impudent guard. Just as she opened her mouth the red cloak smirked at Lady Westerling, dropped her cloak on the floor and closed the door.

 

She turned again to demand Lord Tywin punish the disrespectful soldier only to have her angry words lodge in her throat.

 

The Hall of Justice was a smaller, plain copy of the Great Hall of the Iron Throne with bare stone walls, floors and two windows. Upon the dias was a carved wooden chair, resplendent with shining gold leaf, for Queen of Westeros; flanked by plainer seats for the Hand of the King and the Master of Laws.

 

Lord Tywin, Ser Kevan and Queen Cersei were seated at the head of the room on the dias. All the important Golden Horde captains stood shoulder to shoulder along the walls.

 

Lady Sybil was to shocked to hide her dismay. Never had she imagined Lord Tywin would want witnesses for their confrontation.

 

Lady Sybil was not sure - with all of these witnesses present - that Lord Tywin was at all concerned with his underhanded ploy becoming public knowledge.

 

Lady Sybil went to the foot of the dais and knelt before the royal presence with her head bowed thinking hard how Lord Tywin could find it advantageous to publically admit to planning the botched wedding murder at the Twins.

 

“Your royal Highness, Queen Cersei, I was summoned to appear at the request of his grace the King’s Hand; I present myself to you: a loyal subject awaiting your command.”

 

Lady Sybil kept her submissively eyes on the floor. It was foolishness to challenge a lion without a sword and her secret collaboration with Lord Tywin was her only shield.

 

“Are you a loyal subject?” Lord Tywin asked mildly.

 

Lady Sybil looked up at Lord Tywin and his daughter in surprise. “All my family is sworn to the service of House Lannister, my lord. You witnessed our oaths yourself.”

 

“Actions speak louder than words.” Lord Tywin’s had the weight of a judgement in them.

 

“My lord-” Lady Sybil began to protest but was cut off.

 

“You and your children failed to hold Castle Crag against Robb Stark. Now I learn you conspired with Lord Walder Frey...” Lord Tywin trailed off allowing everyone in the room to complete the sentence.

 

You lost faith in the Golden Horde of the West and threw your lot in with the Winter Soldier's, traitorous merchant's daughter. Weak blood.

 

An absurd accusation. Castle Crag fell because Lord Tywin and the Golden Horde failed to keep Robb Stark and his army of Winter Soldiers from invading the Western Lands not because of Sybil.

 

“Your husband failed my son at the battle of Whispering Woods! Because of your him my brother lost his right hand!” Queen Cersei said coldly. “Your sons swore their swords to the rebel Robb Stark! Your daughter Jeyne shamelessly attached herself to Brynden Tully!”

 Sybil almost smiled. The accusation she carelessly flung at Sir Gawen Westerling could easily apply to any of the other Western lords who fought alongside the luckless kingslayer Sir Jamie Lannister.

Sir Jaime not Lord Gawen in command at the battle of Whispering Wood. Fault fell on the commander in charge not his subordinates. Queen Cersei was digging Lord Tywin’s grave with her tongue because she always said to much when she was drunk or angry.

 

A look from Lord Tywin silenced Queen Cersei but it was too late. It was not their fault Lord Tywin underestimated the military prowess of the young Robb Stark; but they paid for his arrogance in their blood and gold.

 

The rustling of the Golden Horde Commanders clothing as they shifted uneasily was loud as a whispers. 

 

After Queen Cersei had insulted their collective honor none of the lords of the Golden Horde would believe the Westerlings had betrayed the Lannisters.

 

"For the sake of the Westerling's long standing loyalty to house Lannister I beg mercy my Queen," Lady Sybil cried out in distress. "Lord Gawen Westerling and his father were two of the few who rallied to Lord Tywin when the Tarbecks and Reynes rebelled against Casterly Rock. Ever have the Westerlings been faithful-"

 

"Be silent or be muted," Queen Cersei hissed angrily.

 

Lady Sybil sank lower to the floor as if crushed by the weight of Queen Cersei's authority. Really she was hiding the smile on her face. The time would come when Sybil see Cersei and Tywin would reap a bitter harvest from the seeds sown by the queen's careless words.

Lord Tywin could have fobbed the whole plot off as Sybil scheming behind her husband’s back, but Queen Cersei had ruined that by dragging Gawen’s name into it. To call the loyalty of the Westerlings into question was to call the judgment of the Lannisters into question.

 

Sybil was not popular with Tywin and his lords because her father was a merchant, but her husband Lord Gawen and their children were well known and well regarded at court.

 

Lady Sybil and Lady Dorna Swift, Sir Kevan's wife were close friends. Every Lord of the Golden Horde knew it was Lord Tywin’s disfavor that had prevented Lady Sybil and Lady Dorna from arranging a marriage between their children.

 

Before he died Lord Holster Tully had approached the Westerlings on his brother’s behalf and the Westerlings had turned Lord Tully down. Lady Sybil wanted her children married into noble Western families.

 

There was only one reason for Lady Sybil to changer her mind about a Westerling-Tully union: an order from Lord Tywin.

 

It was too late for Lord Tywin to salvage the situation; the old lion went forward with his plan as if his daughter, the queen had not just proclaimed he was guilty of plotting a heinous breach of common decency.

 

“For the unfathomable failure of House Westerling to keep faith with House Lannister - I, Lord Tywin Lannister, son of Tytos, Warden of the West, Lord of Casterly Rock caste you and all your turn cloak family out of the Western lands!”

 

“And hereby grant the Westerling’s Castle Crag, Castamere, their contents and surrounding estates to Sir Kevan Lannister for him loyal service to the Iron Throne,” said Queen Cersei.

 

Lady Sybil glanced around out the corners of her eyes and saw Queen Cersei had profoundly shocked the captains of the Golden Horde.

 

No Western lord had faced dispossession from his ancestral holdings and banishment from the West in generations. The usual punishment was a crippling fine to be paid in gold.

 

Even Sir Kevan seemed equally taken aback. Clearly Lord Tywin and Queen Cersei had not told Kevan what they had planned to do.

 

The Citadel Castamere was never rebuilt after Lord Tywin put down his cousin’s rebellion. It remained a shell of stone: a home to birds, goats and wild flowers.

 

Castle Crag was not a rich estate; most of their income came from the sale of cider made from their apple orchards to the Northmen and Iron Islands. The tenants who lived on their lands were mostly shepherds, fishermen, and sea salt harvesters who lived hand to mouth.

 

The Westerlings wealth came from the merchant Spicer family useing the castle Crag as a headquarters and warehouse.

 

Granting Sir Kevan Castle Crag gave him the title of lord without the income to support the lifestyle. Sir Kevan would need Lord Tywin’s golden generosity as never before to afford to keep the Crag.

 

Sir Kevan wisely rebuffed Queen Cersei’s shabby gift.

 

“My lord is generous, but as Master of Laws I must point out the that King Joffrey gave Tyrion right of conquest.”

 

“Yes I know,” Queen Cersei said with impatient irritation.

 

“It is Lord Tyrion’s right to keep for himself the lands and chattel of any lord he took prisoner during the war. By right of conquest.”

 

It was Queen Cersei’s turn to be shocked. Lady Sybil heard more than one indrawn breath.

 

Lord Westerling was not the only Lannister commander who was captured and released by Tyrion. Sir Kevan had in essence declared his dwarf nephew Lord of the Western Lands by right of conquest. In a normal family, such would have been a distinction without difference.

 

Lord Tywin only had three children. Queen Cersei had given up inheritance rights when she married King Robert. Sir Jaime gave up his rights when he pledged service to the King’ Guard.

 

That left only Tyrion to inherit Casterly Rock; but everyone in the West knew Lord Tywin despised his youngest child. Yet Lord Tywin look strangely unperturbed by the announcement.

 

There was something, something important hidden by Lord Tywin’s calm acceptance. Lady Sybil would winkle it out.

 

Lord Tywin left Sybil on her knees to emphasize her humiliation while he announced the other Golden Horde Commanders and their families were invited to Prince Joffrey’s wedding as his honoured guests. Lady Sybil listened to Lord Tywin with half an ear, and considered her next move.

 

To be humbled before his fellow commanders would have shattered Gawen Westerling like a clay pot dropped from a tower.

 

Which was why Sybil chose to appear before the court without her husband at her side. So long as Sybil escaped unharmed she did not care. She could fight another day.

 

For a merchant, setbacks and victories were the acceptable cost of taking chances and being one’s own master. After she left the Lord Tywin, Queen Cersei and the golden lords of the West Mistress Sybil would tell her husband the bad news.

 

Gawen was too honorable and proud plead his case to Lord Tywin after Sybil’s public set down. Which would rob Tywin of the opportunity play the merciful over lord by to offering Gawen some way to crawl back into his good graces.

 

If Sybil burst into tears as soon as she entered their rooms; she probably persuade her husband to leave with the first mule wagon headed toward the Riverlands in the morning.

 

Her eldest daughter Jeyne had formed an attachment with Lord Tyrion’s ward Podrick Payne and she was anxious to have parental approval marry.

 

Considering Lord Tywin was an old man who did not seem opposed to Tyrion’s claims on the Western lands. Considering many of the Western lords had shown disrespect to Tyrion in the past and given the prideful nature of Lannisters Tyrion was unlikely to forget and forgive them.

 

Considering Lady Sansa was very young, and possibly very impressionable. Considering Lady Sybil would still like to see her daughters, sons, and brother settled into castle estates of their own and her husband restored to his the Crag -

 

Lady Sybil decided that the best course of action for her family would be to go to the court of lord and lady Stark Lannister at Castle Riverrun and seek their fortune with the little golden lion and his red winter wolf.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You all may not believe this but I do have a kind of story board/outline for this and well this should have been posted to Domesticity as chapter one, but the note card got lost until recently. Soooo. yeah. It's here, because in Domesticity as written ( you will see later) I have Lord Gawen Westerling, Jeyne Westerling's father on military campaign in the Iron Islands with Tyrion. 
> 
> So. Jamie arrives in the Riverlands. Jeyne Westerling. Jeyne Bolton. Lady Sybil Westerling, Sansa, Robb, Catlyn, Edmure, Joy Hill, Arya, Genna, Brynden Tully are there at Riverrun Castle.
> 
> Lord Tyrion has taken, Podrick Payne, Sir Bronn, both lady Genna's son's Lyonel and Red Walder, Lord Gawen and his sons Raynald and Rollam to the Iron Islands. 
> 
> if some of this does not make sense i will edit more when i am off cold medicine. : )


	22. Chapter 22

The litter transporting Lady Sansa from the wedding revel near the dragon pit to the docks swayed gently from side to side with the steps of the eight strong men carrying it by its four poles. Its wood frame was gilded with shining gold foil and filled with soft padding, blankets with walls of billowing white silk like an adult size royal baby’s cradle. 

She lay draped over a mound of pillows inside her gilded cage like one of Queen Cersei’s indolent cats. Her hair was completely unbraided. It spilled over her shoulders in wavy ribbons of scarlet and copper. Her sheer veil was draped around her shoulders like a shawl.

Between taking deep swallows from the wine bottle near her elbows, Sansa hummed to herself and plucked idly at the strings of her golden lap harp. It was a beautiful instrument, with silver wire strings that would probably never break. 

Lord Tyrion had promised to buy Sansa a matching high harp for her next birthday if she would refrain from removing her bodice at the wedding revel. Tyrion did not seem to understand that drinking wine made Sansa terribly hot, her golden silk dress had become terribly uncomfortable. 

She would have felt so much better naked...and perhaps wet.

There was so much wine. Sansa just wanted to pour a little of it on bare her skin and cool off. That suggestion had alarmed Tyrion so much Sansa had let him trundle her and two bottles of wine into the litter bound for the docks without further protest. She was a good wife, and good wives did not alarm their husbands unnecessarily. 

The litter stopped moving. Sansa heard Tyrion send the porters to unload luggage then Tyrion drew back the curtains. Sansa blinked at him drowsily, then smiled. 

“Hello husband.” Sansa drank down the last of the wine in her second bottle. 

“Hello wife.” A smiled tugged at the corner of Tyrion’s mouth. He glanced at the empty wine bottles. “You appear to be very thirsty, my dear.”

“I am thirst, but.” Sansa sighed sadly she shook the empty wine bottle in her hand by its neck. 

“I seem to have run out of wine.” Sansa tossed the bottle out the open curtains and it broke with a tremendous crash on the ground.

“Would you lend me wine? I’ll pay you back as soon as I’m able. Promise. On my honor.” Sansa licked her finger and made an ‘x’ over her heart. “Ohhh took Tyrion! There’s boats and boats!”

Behind her husband Lady Sansa could see the golden afternoon dappling the rippling waters of the Blackwater Rush. The stone docks extended into the muddy black waters of the river like stone fingers. Small fishing boats were tied to the sides of the docks like ticks infesting a dog. 

At the end of the stone quay in front of Sansa’s litter was a ship with three masts painted red and yellow. It was the largest boat she could see to the left or right. Two smaller two mast ships also painted yellow and red were anchored out in the middle of the river. 

“May I present the Dawn Treader,” Tyrion pointed to the largest red and yellow ship. “Further out are her escort ships Nina and Maria.” 

To Sansa’s untrained eye the three matching red and gold ships had the long curved shape of a gravy boat with the tiller at the back like a handle. Sansa sat up too quickly. She clutched her dizzy head with one hand, and her queasy stomach with the other. She had to close her eyes for a moment and breath until the urge to vomit passed.

“My lady, are you well?” her dwarf husband inquired, concern wrinkling his scar twisted face into a gargoyle’s mask that was difficult not to stare at. Married than a brace of days and Tyrion could not gage Sansa’s moods.

He reached for her, but his hand stopped just short of touching. Tyrion was unsure of his ability to comfort his child bride. Tyrion was unsure Sansa would even accept his touch. 

“We can delay if-”

“NO!” Lady Sansa said with more force and volume than she intended making Tyrion flinch back from her. 

Sansa reached out to Tyrion. Grasping both his hands in hers, she absently noticed Tyrion’s hands were not as calloused as Lord Eddard Stark’s, nor soft as Lord Petyr Baelish’s, she swung her long legs out of the curtained litter. 

“Hand me down my lord,” Sansa said in calmer tones. “Let us be away with all possible haste.” 

Sansa stumbled a little disembarking from the pole carried litter, and almost fell over as the feeling of pins and needles rushed into her heavy numb legs. 

Tyrion steadied his tall wife, by holding her up right with two strong hands on her waist. Once Sansa was steady on her feet she looked around and saw Sir Bronn Blackwater and Sir Podrick Payne standing side by side near their horses.

“You are drunk my dear.”

“I am not,” Sansa denied, then hiccupped. “I only drank that wine.” She pointed back at the litter. “And some at the revel.”

“At least three bottles. More than enough to souse a slender lady of sober habits.”

“T’was a very little bottles.” Lady Sansa held her thumb and first finger a few inches apart to show Tyrion how small the bottle of wine had been. “Very sweet, not like, like that swill Cersei drinks. That’s sour. Like, like day old bathwater!”

“You are right, my sister has horrible taste in wine.”

“Horrid taste in everything!” Sansa nearly tipped over waving her arms showing Tyrion how much everything was. 

“Have you seen her clothes?” Sansa plucked at her own dress. 

“Her hair?” Sansa held up a hank of her own disheveled mane and held it out for Tyrion to look at. Her veil slipped off her head and fluttered to the ground.

”Did you know she paints her lips and powders her face like, like a, a painted lady!? Who does that? Whores! That’s who!” Sansa jabs Tyrion in the chest with a finger emphasising the point. 

“Whores do that! Mother said! No lady paints her face! You don’t gild lilies! Your sister is a painted whore!”

“You color is very high,” Tyrion observed tilting his slurring wife upright again. “I could engage a room. You could have a hot meal and a lay down while the last of the luggage is loaded.”

“I don’t need food,” Sansa said frowning. “I need more wine.”

“In a pig’s eye you do,” Bronn muttered.

Lady Sansa turned to her husband’s men as if seeing them for the first time. “Hello Poddy Pod Pod!” Sansa clumsily patted Podrick’s head like a puppy. “You are a good boy. Yes you are. I’m gonna tell Tyrion to buy you some gold. Would you like that? Yes, yes you would!”

Bronn started chuckling. Sansa spun around too fast and fell into Sir Blackwater’s arms. “Bonnie Bronn Bon! What are you laughing at? What’s so funny? Your face!” Sansa went limp with helpless laughter. 

Bronn gently set the giggling teenage girl back on her own two feet. Tyrion steadied her again with hands on Sansa’s slender waist as she continued to twitter helplessly. “Your face! It’s so funny!”

“I will be banging pots and pans bright and early in the morning to wake you up lady light weight,” Bronn warned.

“You will do no such thing!” Podrick said scandalized. “You know she doesn’t mean it. I don’t think Lady Sansa has ever been drunk before -”

“I never had a reason to drink till i got married,” Sansa confided. “Now, I might never stop! This so much fun!”

Sansa took both Tyrion’s hands and spun them in a circle until Podrick caught her by the shoulders. “Whoa! My lady you will make yourself sick!”

Tyrion shook his head to clear the lingering dizziness. “Sansa not all the waterside Guesthouses are flea ridden fire traps. You did not eat much at the Wedding Revel. Let’s go get you some food and drink a jug of water to dilute the wine you just drank.” 

Tyrion accepts his wife from Podrick and starts leading her away from the boats, but she pulled away from him to stumble crookedly down the quay.

“I’m perfect presently. Perfectly fine. Perfectly ready-” Sansa’s body shook like a palsy victim having a fit with the effort to hold in the tipsy giggles bubbling inside her.

She gasped for air, deep calming breaths, in a vain attempt to regain her usually serene composure. Then a high pitched staccato ‘he, he, he, he, he,’ burst out of her like twittering bird song. She covered her mouth with both her hands to hide it. 

“Perfectly happy!” she grasped unable to catch her breath between bursts of stomach clenching laughter. She sank to her knees and began laughing uncontrollably into the lap of her dress. Her long red hair spread over her shoulders like a crimson veil.

Tyrion sighed. “Podrick run fetch my lady’s maid.”

“Yes, my lord.”

Podrick jogged down the docks. Septa Kuthe was riding on one of the last wagons piled with crates and trunks to arrive. She had gone back to the Sept of Baelor to retrieve her personal belongings from the holy sister’s dormitory.

“Oh Tyrion, this is perfect!” Sansa waved a hand indicating Tyrion, the docks, the three galley ships bobbing gently in the dark foul smelling water of the Blackwater river. “I was ready to swim for it - this is so much better - thank you.”

Tyrion pulled his drunken teenage wife back up to her feet. She had the grace of a newborn giraffe, but she was smiling brightly at him, and he could not help smiling back. “You are welcome Sansa.”

Lady Sansa kissed her husband fondly on his forehead then hugged him tightly. She smothered Tyrion’s face in her stomach and stroked his hair. “You are my very favorite husband. Did you know?”

“Considering the wide field of competition. I’m flattered.”

“You know. Everyone wants to marry me - Joffrey, Wallis, Old Roose - mother was having none of that - only Southern scions were fit for her daughters. What till she sees YOU!” Sansa threw back her head and laughed. “I have exceeded all expected nations! The next Lord of casterly rock is my lord husband! I’m rich! Rich as, as a Lannister!”

“My lady Sansa is you well?” Sepia Kuthe called anxiously. She lifted her skirts and ran toward her mistress.

“Hello Kuthe!” Sansa let go of her husband and glomped onto her new handmaiden. 

“Septa Kuthe if you would please escort my lady aboard. See that she drinks a jug of water,” Tyrion instructed.

“Kuthe look!” Sansa slung an arm around Kuthe’s shoulders then gestured ‘ta da,’ at the three waiting ships. “My golden lion hath fetched up grand floating chariots to bare us forth on the gentle wind good fortune sends!”

“Yes my lady, they be a fine sight,” Sept Kuthe took charge of Sansa. With an arm around Sansa’s waist she tugged the young noble women up the gangplank.. 

“I, I, I’ve never been so happy! I shall sing of it! All the way home I’ll sing an ode -”

“Let’s go have a little rest now.” Tyrion fetched Sansa’s harp from the pole litter, and the veil that had slipped off Sansa’s head onto the ground and handed both to Septa Kuthe.

“My lion is like none other! His word is good as his gold! My lion is like none other! When Smith made him broke-th the mold!”

“Broketh is not a real word, my lady.”

“Tis in my sing,” Lady Sansa hiccupped. 

“You mean song my lady.”

“Tis my sing, if I sing it,” Sansa insisted between stuttering bouts of chuckles. “Call your sing a song if you want, it won’t make senses because a dance is not a donce!”

“I must be drunk. That almost makes sense to me,” Podrick said disbelieving.

“I told you to practice your wine, but did you listen. Do you think I speak just to hear my own voice?”

“Yes?” Bronn said cheekily.

“Kuthe look it - boats!” Santa gestured expressively wiping happy tears from her face. 

“At least she’s a happy drunk. All Shae does is cry,” Bronn pointed out helpfully.

“Shut up,” Tyrion ordered.

“Three!” Sansa shrieked then howled with helpless laughter. Then began singing again. Louder. “My lion is like none other! His word is good as his gold! My lion just has the one brother. And his sister is wrinkled and old! Oooh I shouldn’t have said that - she’s, she’s gonna get me now!”

“You’ve had a busy day, let’s lie you down in your cabin eh?” Sept Kuthe hustled Sansa across the deck of the largest ship.

“My cabin on a BOAT!”

Bronn, Podrick, Tyrion, and Captain Hank watched the two women disappear into the cabin quietly. Sansa reappeared on deck playing her golden harp and signing at the top of her voice.

“TYRION the lion’s son! BLACKWATER BAY’s CHAMPION! Who whipped Stannis Baratheon? WHY TYRION the LION SON!”

Sansa nimbly danced across the deck just out of Septa Kuthe’s reach as she sang and plucked the strings.

“Tyrion the lion’s son! Escaped the Vale with Ser Bronn! Who fights with Hill’s men just for fun? WHY Tyrion the Lion’s Son!”

“My wife the alehouse singing sensation.” Tyrion shook his head.

Bronn shrugged. “Fitting isn’t it. She is married to the god of tits and wine.”

“Bronn please go maim the people stealing my baggage while the harbour master is distracted watching my wife.”

“Can’t I just kill them?”

“Whatever you think is best. But do be quick about it. We are in a hurry to leave.”

“Is she gonna be alright?” Podrick asked anxiously turning to look down at Tyrion.

“A little too much wine at the wedding revel combined with the shock of me keeping my word have given my lady wife a fit of happy hysteria. It will pass. I doubt she’ll remember any of this tomorrow. More’s the pity. I like that song.”

“I thought hysterical women cried uncontrollably?”

“Remember how you felt the day after the battle of Blackwater Bay? You were so happy to just be alive you could not stop laughing?”

Podrick nodded.

“Well there you go. Survival joy. It’s not just for men any more.”

At Podrick’s continued look of confusion Tyrion elaborated. “Escaping from my sister and nephew makes Sansa feel like she has cheated death. She is understandably happy about that and she is drunk. Go help Bronn kill the porters stealing all our trunks and crates.”

“Yes my lord.”

“If you want a private word with me, now would be the time to approach. I am sailing as soon as Bronn and Podrick finish tossing corpses into the river.”

A tall blond youth dressed in dun colored pants and shirt stepped out from behind the crates beside the litter. “How did you know I was here?”

“It’s what I do. I drink and I know things.” Tyrion took a swig from a flask attached to a leather thong that hung around his neck. “What do you want?”

“Do you know who I am?”

“Little Finger’s sodomite whoremaster of the Birdcage brothel on Silk Street.”

“I was born to Walder Frey and Bethany Rosby.”

“You look nothing like any Frey I’ve ever seen. Congraduations.”

“Me and my siblings are lucky to take after our mother. Everyone hates us for it.”

“Your golden looks must be quite an asset at the Birdcage. I imagine your father is as proud of you as mine is of me. We should form a guild: the fraternal order of disappointing sons. You should invite Loras Tyrell to round out the founding partners.”

Olyvar blushed and shifted uncomfortably at the mention of Loras Tyrell.

“Ahh, I see you are already acquainted with the Knight of flowers. He would be a fine match for a son of Walder Frey, if Loras Tyrell were not so fickle. I would be careful about forming an attachment if I were you, Loras’ last lover died under curious circumstances.”

“My father doesn't know what I have been doing since I have come to the capital. Just where I work and for whom.”

“Why are you telling me your secret then? Think I’m trustworthy?”

“I knew a whore named Ros. She met you in the North. She said -”

“Ros said nothing. She is dead.” Tyrion had seen Ros’ body when Joffrey finished with her. 

“Occupational hazard of being a whore. Ros gave me some coin to give you these papers in case it happened.”

“Have you read them?”

“Whatever got her killed. I don’t want to know about it.”

Tyrion tucked the papers into his jerkin without looking at them. Olyvar did not leave. Tyrion addressed him. “You have more to say Master Frey?”

“I was Robb Stark’s squire. He found out about my preference for men. He was...kind. Understanding. Robb gave me a sack of silver coin and talked my father into letting me look for a way to rescue Arya and Sansa from the capital.Robb saved my life, I want to repay that debt.” 

“Have you found Arya? Is she with you?”

“No, my lord -”

“Then why are you wasting my time?”

“Ros said you are a good man. I figured, now you are married to a Stark. Maybe you’ll help Robb. For your wife’s sake.”

“I’m listening.”

“Two of my little brothers were in town when your father and sister sent Jeyne Westerling to marry Ramsay Bolton. They told me Robb broke off his engagement with my sister Roslin. My father is plotting with your father to avenge the family honor.”

“Are you sure of this?”

“Next full moon. At the wedding of Edmure Tully and my sister. When the Rains of Castamere starts to play and the Stark starts to die.”

“Doesn’t Walder know what will happen to the Freys if he violates the Starks and Tullys guest rights at a wedding? If the servants don’t poison all the Freys in the name of the seven gods, then the Riverlords would feel justified in hunting you all like rabid dogs.”

“Most of Riverlords have been murdered by the The Mountain Who Rides. With Lord Tywin’s backing, father hopes to fill their empty halls with my multitude of brothers.”

“Yet even if Lord Frey succeeds, even with all the Riverlands to bestow on his children there still will not be enough land to go around. He has at least thirty sons.”

“He has 56 sons and 17 daughters and ten grandchildren.”

“And they say my father is ambitious.” Tyrion whistled. “In fifty years the Freys will be a race.”

“Look. I know you can’t openly oppose your father, like I can’t openly oppose mine, but this is an opportunity for us to profit from their arrogant indifference of our potential.”

“If I am successful what do you think will happen to your father and the rest of the Freys?”

“So long as my mother’s children are spared." Olyvar shrugged. "I honestly could not care less.”

“That is a very mercenary attitude Master Olyvar.”

“A man with fifty plus siblings quickly learns to cut his losses and look after his own best interest.”

“Very well. Name your siblings.”

Olyvar hurriedly unfolded a piece of vellum; on it was a life like portrait of Olyvar’s immediate family. Olyvar handed the painting to Tyrion then pointed his siblings out as he named them. 

“My brothers Perwyn, Benfrey and sister Rosiln are at the Twins. My brother Willamen is Maester at Longbow Hall. I would consider it a personal favor if they all survived what befalls the rest of house Frey. You will find my gratitude useful in the future considering the connections I have made all over the Crownlands and in the Red Keep.”

“Alright. I will handle this. God's know how, but I will think of something. When this is over you and your siblings will have to take up your mother’s maiden name and swear fealty. I will continuance no Freys in the Riverlands after this treachery.”

“Done...I know I have already asked a lot of you-”

“But you want more.”

“Jeyne Westerling. She is daughter of Winterfell’s Steward and Sansa’s friend. My friend. A decent, clever sort of girl. Queen Cersei passed her off as Arya Stark and gave her as wife to the Bolton heir.”

“So what?”

“So Ramsay Bolton hurts people for fun.”

“So does half my family. Marrying the Bolton heir is more than a steward’s daughter could have hoped for in the normal course of events. She should be prepared to put up with quite a bit to become Lady Dreadfort.”

“Bolton gave Jeyne a pair of gloves he made from a skinned human hand as a wedding gift. She doesn't deserve to be married to that kind of animal. Nobody does. If you can help her, consider it another favor I owe you.”

“It may interest you to know that back when your mother Bethany was young and beautiful my brother Jamie was in the Riverlands chasing bandits. If you know of any of my brother’s unclaimed children please warn them against making themselves known. Queen Cersei would not be as pleased with their existence as I am.”

“Thank you Lord Tyrion.

“No. Thank you Master Olyvar Rosby.”

“What was that about?” Bronn asked as he and Podrick came back to Tyrion’s side.

“Change of plans Bronn.” Tyrion handed his flask to Bronn who took a swig then handed it back to Tyrion. “I need to get a message to our friends in the Hill Tribes. We are going to crash a wedding.”


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING Sexual violence against a women in this chapter! This chapter is not necessary for the plot, but it will explain the ruthlessness of Jeyne Poole’s future actions.

WARNING Sexual violence against a women in this chapter! This chapter is not necessary for the plot, but it will explain the ruthlessness of Jeyne Poole’s future actions.

At Winterfell they called her ‘Poole of Water’, or just ‘Water,’ and thought the pun was funny. 

“Forgive them,” her father Vayon Poole, steward of Winterfell would say to his daughter Jeyne Poole. “What Northmen lack in wit and sophistication, they make up for in honor and honesty. In all the Seven Kingdoms you’ll never find a better breed of men than the sons of snow and ice.”

Jeyne Poole had not truly appreciated her father’s words until her father and almost all of the retinue who had followed Lord Eddard Stark to King’s Landing were murdered trying to save their liege lord from false imprisonment by the Lannister bannermen and the City Watch. 

The King’s Guardsmen had back handed Jeyne Poole like a salt wife when she struggled to escape him. Then the armored man with wine soured breath grabbed the front of her dress and drew her close to his face to growl “shut your mouth before I give you something to cry about bitch!”

Jeyne was terrified. She did not even know what the word ‘bitch’ meant. 

A black eye was already blossoming on Jeyne’s face when she was slung into the small empty room by the scruff of her dress by a burly knight in a white cloak like an unwanted cat. Sansa Stark, her best friend and milk-sister, caught Jeyne in a hug when she would have fallen on the floor. 

“My father’s dead!” Jeyne wailed hysterically into Sansa’s shoulder clutching her friend like the only thing floating in an ocean of sorrow stretching from horizon to horizon. “Sansa they killed everyone! They even killed the Septa! Oh gods! Oh gods! They are going to kill us too!”

“No. They won’t kill me. Not yet, anyway...I will suffer a long time before they let me die...They might kill you.” Jeyne’s tears stopped instantly. She pulled away, and Sansa let her go. The Stark girl’s arms dropped limply to her side. 

Arya Stark was a dirty fighter; not above hair pulling and face slapping. Jeyne could tell the mark on Sansa’s cheek was from a hand much larger than Arya’s and the clump of hair standing up like a disheveled hillock on the side of Sansa’ head was pulled loose by a very strong hand because Sansa liked her braids tight.

Jeyne stared into the face of her friend, a face she knew better than her own, but Sansa was looking through her. Looking at something a thousand yards beyond Jeyne. 

Her voice was detached almost dreamy. The sleeves of Sansa’s favorite dress - the silver gown with golden roses - was torn at both shoulders and the skirt was dirty at the knees were Sansa had fallen on the ground. Fear and rage filled Jeyne like a wine soaked log catching fire.

“Sansa! Sansa!” Jeyne cried urgently. She gripped her best friend’s shoulders and shook her a little trying to force the redhead girl’s attention to focus on her. “What did they do to you? Did they...did they hurt you?”

“Not yet. They’re going to...Joffrey promised...and I deserve it. It’s all my fault. I told Cersei - I shouldn’t have, but I did. I trusted her because she’s beautiful. In the songs the queen is always good and beautiful - Cersei is a beautiful queen, but she’s not good...A Stark should known a wolf in sheep’s -”

“Sansa!” Jeyne screamed shaking her friend harder. It was like the girl had a high fever and she was babbling nonsense. 

“I have to stay here. I don’t know where Arya is. I can’t go home without Arya. I have to find my sister or be certain she’s dead...before I die I have to know she’s safe. You escape. Run away. Go North. Robb will take you in. Your father was father’s friend. You are my friend. The North remembers-”

“Sansa I’m not leaving you here -”

“Yes. You. Will.” Suddenly Sansa was present, fully focused on Jeyne, her eyes hard and intense like her lord father. 

Sansa reached into the bosom of her gown and drew out a little leather pouch. It contained two gold dragons, ten silver stags and twenty five copper pennies. The money Lord Eddard had given Sansa’s to buy trifles at the market place for herself and gifts to send home to her brothers.

“You remember the story old Nan told us about how Clever Lann stole the Eye of the Sea and smuggled the diamond out of Pyke?”

“Yes -”

“That’s what you’ll do.” Sansa ordered pressing the leather pouch into Jeyne’s hands. “Swallow these coins. Buy your way home. Hurry. We don’t know when they will come for you.”

“How can you be so sure they will take me away?” Jeyne asked frightened. 

Sansa wiped Jeyne’s tears away gently with her thumbs. “Cruel people do cruel things. The scorpion killed the frog. You’re my last comfort from home. Of course they will take you away from me. They don’t know the North has wolves AND foxes. Run away Jeyne. Don’t look back. Don’t come back.”

Jeyne started crying again. The tears running down her face, mingled with the snot from her nose and for once she did not care what she looked like. Jeyne was certain this was the last time she would ever see her best friend alive. One of them was going to die. Maybe Jeyne. Maybe Sansa. Maybe both.

Without taking her eyes off Jeyne’s eyes, Sansa reached into the bag of coins with drew one and placed it on Jeyne’s trembling lips. “Swallow it.” Sansa ordered. Jeyne complied.

Jeyne choked on the third coin. She threw up after the sixth; and had to start all over again. 

Sansa was as patient and firm with Jeyne as she had been when housebreaking her direwolf lady or teaching her sister little Arya and half brother Jon Snow to gracefully execute the courtly dances in preparation for King Robert’s visit to Winterfell when Lady Catlyn gave up on the former and could not be bothered with the later. 

If she lived Jeyne was certain Sansa would be a great women someday. She had the patience, the poise and the sheer presence of personality to rule.

One by one Sansa fed her friend every coin in the sack. 

When Jeyne had finished eating the coins, Sansa bade her to turn around. The Stark girl took off her dragonfly necklace, the silver pendant with sapphire wings her father had made especially for her by jewelers in White Harbor, and carefully braided into Jeyne Poole’s hair. 

“What are you doing?” Jeyne asked feeling Sansa tugging at her hair she reached back to feel with the taller girl was doing, felt the dragon fly with her finger tips and protested,” Sansa you can’t -”

“I want you to have a something to remember me by. Just in case,” Sansa trailed off unwilling to say she might die. Jeyne started to cry again. Sansa suddenly hugged her fiercely. 

“Please don’t cry! You’ll make yourself sick. I love you Jeyne! You’re my best friend, my milk sister and I wish -,” Sansa sniffled back tears. “You get away from here. As far away as you can. If you ever see my mother or my brothers. Tell them I love them. Tell them I miss them. Tell them I’m sorry. Tell them -”

It was too late to say anymore. 

There was a creak as the bolt was pulled back, and a groan as the stout wooden door swung open. The had white cloak returned. He roughly pulled the two girls apart, tossing Sansa carelessly against a wall. He bound Jeyne hand and foot, then put a scratchy burlap sack over her head.

The white cloak slung Jeyne over his shoulder like a gunny sack of corn and carried her away. There were voices in the darkness. The evil white knight. The evil beautiful queen. A soft spoken man, who would turn out to be the most evil of all. 

The Knight stood Jeyne on her feet. The soft spoken man warned the girl, “be still or be cut. Your choice.” He left the bag over her head, then proceeded to cut all the clothes from Jeyne’s body while she trembled from fright and cold. 

The soft spoken man groped Jeyne’s body as if he were buying a horse and tested the truth of her virginity with probing fingers. Jeyne pissed herself in terror. The soft spoken man cursed in outrage as his gloved hand and sleeve were soaked in urine.

Someone punched Jeyne in the head so hard she saw white lights underneath her black hood and fell clumsily to her knees. The white knight and the queen laughed, the soft spoken man said angry words but Jeyne was to dizzy to understand. 

Jeyne was dragged by her upper arms by two men from the cool darkness inside, to the warm sunshine outside. Her feet and ankles scraped painfully across the cobblestones before she was tossed into a thick bed of straw over wooden boards. A mule brayed and jingled its harness.

The wagon jerked forward after a man cracked a whip and shouted. Jeyne bumped along the road, naked in a pile of straw in the open back of a wagon and wondered how in the seven hells could her father and Lord Stark could not have known the capital was full of wicked, evil people waiting to kill them?

Jeyne was delivered to Petyr Baelish. The Mockingbird locked her a small, hot brick box for three days without food or water. When Jeyne was weak as a kitten he released her. In exchange for morsels of food and tiny sips of water delivered from the Mockingbird’s hand Jeyne had to submit to his depravity with willing enthusiasm.

The Mockingbird kept Jeyne for a two long days. During that time Baelish did every sexual act he could think of to Jeyne except break her valuable maidenhead. When the Mockingbird was finished ‘breaking’ Jeyne in, he left her on the floor naked and filthy for his Whore master Olyvar Frey to deal with. Thankfully Frey was sympathetic and open to bribery.

Jeyne bribed the whore house master Olyvar with a golden dragon and he agreed to spare her from skin work for six months. That arrangement did not exempt Jeyne from all work. The once proud steward’s daughter was reduced to a common charwoman who cleaned, sewed, fetched and cooked like any other drudge. 

Jeyne spent her time watching and listening. She had some coin. She was determined to escape. She befriended a whore named Ros, from the village near Winterfell, who also wanted to flee Baelish. A week before their planned escape, Ros was killed and Jeyne shipped off to wed Ramsay Snow. 

The Lannisters dressed her in fine clothes, mounted her on a high stepping palfrey and called her Arya Stark, but Steelshanks Walton recognized her on sight as the Steward Vayon Poole’s daughter from his visits to Winterfell with Lord Roose Bolton and treated her accordingly. 

It was strange to be treated as a person of quality after months of being regarded as personal property. 

Steelshanks embarrassed Jeyne by reminding her more than once that a lady did not have to cook or fetch firewood for the bannermen. Thankfully Jeyne found a solution to her reflexive submissiveness. 

She went to bed and woke up the next day resolved that she was the Lady Jey; a coy, commanding creature like the highest paid courtesans in the Birdcage.

Lady Jey was the fearless, beautiful women Jeyne Poole wished she was while scrubbing floors and emptying chamber pots at the Birdcage.

She moved and spoke the way Ros had taught her. Jeyne Poole went to her wedding in the wreckage of Harrenhal with her head held high and her spine straight as if she were proud of the price men paid for her time instead of scared witless at the prospect of marrying one of the the Dredfort monsters. 

Lady Jey stopped Ramsay Snow in his tracts on the wedding night. When the door closed behind them, both stripped stark naked by the boisterous wedding party Jeyne turned to her new husband with her hands on her hips and asked him frankly, “I’m taking the bed. Where do you intend to sleep?”

Ramsay paused a moment, surprised by Jeyne’s lack of fear, but Lady Jey was never afraid. People feared her. 

“I’ll sleep with my cock down your throat if it pleases me wife, and I must say it will please me very much.” 

Ramsay rushed at Jeyne, but she stood her ground and stared him down. “If you value your cock, you’ll keep it in your pants, my lord husband,” she said coolly. Ramsay drew up short, so close Jeyne could feel his foul damp dog breath on her face. 

“Do you know who I am little girl? I know who you are NOT. You are NOT Arya Stark,” Ramsay whispered in a threatening hiss circling around Jeyne, letting his naked body brush against hers, teasingly, threateningly. “You’re nothing but a worthless, steward’s welp -”

“My father was Steward of Winterfell. My milk-sister is Sansa Stark.”

“So what? Her father’s dead. Her brother and mother are good as dead -”

“Haven’t you heard, my lord husband?” Lady Jey asked sweetly. “Sansa Stark is not dead. She’s to be married to Tyrion Lannister, son of Tywin Lannister. The heir of Casterly Rock.”

“What’s that to do with you? With me?”

“Lady Sansa is uncommonly pretty, it won’t take long for her to master her ugly dwarf husband. When Sansa has the upperhand of Tyrion, she will send for me as she promised. I will be her chief lady in waiting.”

“You’ll be waiting a long time. We are going to North.”

“You’ll be waiting until hell freezes if you think you’ll inherit the Dredfort from your father, or haven’t you heard he intends to take a wife from among Lord Walder’s daughters and bred a legitimate son?”

“You lie,” Ramsay hissed taking a fist full of Jeyne’s hair pulling her neck back violently. “He promised ME!”

“I heard it from Steelshanks. Do you think it more likely that Lord Roose lied to his bastard or the captain of his guard?” Lady Jey turned her head slowly, painfully toward her husband’s face and asked in her most apologetic mocking voice. “You and your father aren’t very close are you my lord?”

Ramsay shoved Jeyne away violently. Thankfully Jeyne sprawled on the straw filled pallet and not the bare stone floor. Jeyne rolled over. She leaned up on her elbow and crossed her legs at the ankles, the picture of calm repose.

“Want to be the rightful Lord of the Dredfort? I can help you with that. My best friend is months away from being King Joffrey's aunt. Only the king can make you legitimate. What can your father do for you? What does your father WANT to do for you? What has your father EVER done for you?”

It was a dangerous gamble, but Lady Jey only played for high stakes. Ramsay Snow was every inch the beast Steelshanks Walton and his men said he was. He could either accept Lady Jey was a valuable ally and treat her accordingly or he could turn violent. 

In which case, Jeyne intended to make him angry enough to kill her outright. Jeyne had learned at the Birdcage that there was a world of suffering many times worse than death. 

“Know that if your are lying to me, my dear lady wife, I will kill you slowly. So, so slowly."

"Of course, my lord. Goodnight." Lady Jey rolled over snuggled down into the prickly straw stuffed bed to make herself comfortable and pretended to sleep until Ramsey left the room and slammed the door. Then she cried. 

Lady Jey had only meant to stall for time. She planned to ride north with Ramsay Snow until they reached White Harbor, then escape her husband and take a ship far, far away from Westeros. 

Amazingly, against all odds, Sansa Stark made Jeyne’s lies the truth.


	24. Chapter 24

I  
When Lord Tyrion Stark Lannister walked through the open door of the sleeping chamber followed by Sir Bronn Blackwater, Chief Timett and Chief Shagga everyone froze guiltily.

Tyrion pulled off his gloves finger by finger as he looked from face to face assessing the situation. 

There was a charwoman on her knees in front of the fireplace. She had a bucket at her side and was scrubbing the sooty stones with a soapy rag as if it would save her life.

There was a sobbing barefoot girl holding her torn shift closed with both hands. Her face was grotesquely misshapen with a rainbow of bruises and swelling. Sansa’s handmaid was comforting her.

Septa Kuthe was stroking the weeping girl’s long tangled brown hair, dabbing at her bleeding lip with a rag and whispering soothing nonsense.

Lord Tyrion’s young wife Lady Sansa and Lord Walder Frey were standing face to face in the middle of the room glaring murder at each other. A servant stood between them wringing his hands in distress.

Lady Sansa had both fist raised ready to strike when Tyrion walked in the door, but lowered them when her husband looked at her. Small sharp push daggers peeked through the fingers of both her clenched fist. The right one was bloody. 

Lord Walder was keeping pressure on his bleeding right shoulder with his left hand. If Sansa had stabbed Walder two inches lower, she would have punched through the old man’s ribs and pierced his heart. Lord Tyrion’s wife had valyrian steel knives. A Lady of Lannister always had the best of everything.

Emmon Frey was sat on the ground by his father’s feet. His nose was broken and bleeding like a waterfall down his face and to stain his shirt front. His leg right leg had a shallow slash across the thigh. Podrick Payne was standing over Emmon point his short sword threateningly at his head.

When Podrick saw Lord Tyrion he hastily hid his weapon behind his back and looked down at the ground.

“My lady, your color is very high,” Tyrion observed walking to his wife’s side. He pulled one of her clenched fist from her side and brushed his lips over her knuckles careful to avoid the knife’s edge. “Are you unwell my darling?”

Emmon Frey opened his mouth to speak. 

Sir Bronn stepped up behind Lord Walder and his second son. He trailed the leather strips of his metal studded cat o nine tails over each man’s shoulders gentle as a lover's teasing fingers.

Emmon closed his mouth.

“I am in good health my lord,” Sansa said through gritted teeth. Her eyes were snapping with fury, but she was attempting to maintain her lady like demeanor. 

Belatedly. 

“The seven god's be praised! If you had taken sick, then you would miss dinner. The cook has promised a honey basted turkey stuffed with a bacon wrapped duck stuffed with a buttered chicken!” 

“Sounds delicious,” Sansa admitted reluctantly. 

Considering she subsisted on buttery fowl, fruit, lemon cake and apple blossom tea Sansa’s good health, clear skin and ridiculous height were a source of wonder to Tyrion. 

Sansa never mocked Tyrion’s short stature or begrudged him when he asked her to reach up and get things down for him off high shelves. Tyrion was determined to keep his human ladder growing for as long as they were married. 

“Why don’t you go dress for dinner my darling,” Tyrion suggested gently pulling Sansa by the wrist away from the bleeding Freys toward the door.

She had barely slept or eaten since they crashed Edmure Tully’s wedding. Sansa had thrown herself into the effort to help Tyrion keep the naked prisoners of the Twins securely locked up, fed, and safe from the Hill Tribesmen who did not understand why all the prisoners should not to be summarily executed.  
.  
The stress of organizing a openly hostile household, after having just escaped King’s Landing was wearing Sansa down, but not Tyrion.

Lord Tywin had his sons Jaime and Tyrion conditioned to function with little sleep, or food as boys.

Tyrion intended to get his wife fed and into a clean bed before she dissolved into tears of frustrated exhaustion and started stabbing people with the one of the many daggers hidden on her person.

Again.

“I have no idea where my trunks are!” Sansa complained. She scrubbed at her eyes with the heel of her hand in adorably childish manner. Tyrion’s heart melted a little.

“They are not in the room you slept in last night?”

“No. Someone moved them. Again! I took Payne and Kuthe to help me look -”

“Then what happened?” Tyrion asked gently still leading his wife to the door.

“That steward volunteered to help us.” Sansa pointed to the shaking man.

“I was happy to make myself useful to the lady Sansa,” the steward gibbered nervously eyeing Chief Shagga and his two axes fearfully.

“Tell your lord husband! Please my lady! I was helping! I was -”

“We passed down this hallway.” Sansa yawned and blinked in surprise at the yawn. “I heard awful screaming. I ordered Payne to open the door. That brute,” Sansa pointed an accusing finger at Walder Frey, “was beating that girl!”

“My lady -”

“I couldn’t let him do it Tyrion! I couldn’t! Just like King’s Landing! He hit her and nobody cared!” Sansa’s voice rose, the pent up rage from her own suffering spilling out. “It’s not RIGHT!” Sansa stamped her foot. Tears were shining in her eyes ready to fall. “Tyrion I had to! He deserved it! He’s MEAN-”

“Shhh, shhh, everything is fine,” Tyrion said soothingly. “A hot bath await you in the master suite. I’ll have your trunks found and sent after you. Go refresh yourself before dinner. Let me deal with this situation.”

“You’ll handle it?”

“I am handling it right now...You there.” Tyrion snapped his fingers at the terrified steward. “What’s your name man?” 

“Zachron Bywater if you please my lord.” The nervous servant shifting from foot to foot as if he might piss himself.

“You know your way around the Twins?”

“I am from Riverrun sir, assistant to Lord Edmure’s valet -”

“That...Is not what I asked you.”

“I know enough my lord. I was escorting Lady Sansa. We was looking for her trunks. We heard Lady Frey caterwauling. I sent that other char women to fetch you cause I knew there’d be trouble -”

“You have my thanks for that Master Bywater. If you would take my wife to the master suite? Then keep Payne company outside her door in case she needs to send for me again.”

“Yes sir, right away sir,” Master Bywater bowed deeply from the waist and nearly fell over then stumbled in his hurry to get to the door. “This way if you please Lady Sansa?”

“Please my lord, I’d like that girl to come with me.” Sansa pointed to the crying girl in Kuthe’s arms as Tyrion pulled his reluctant wife toward the open door.

“My lady -”

“I’m NOT leaving her with those, those DINGLE berries!”

“Of course my dear, KUTHE!”

“Yes my Lord Tyrion?”

“Go attend my wife. Bring Mrs. Frey with you.”

“As you will Lord Tyrion! Come on child, let’s begone from this unclean place,” Kuthe murmured pulling the tearful young girl off the bed. 

With an arm around Mrs. Frey’s shoulders Kuthe lead her to where Sansa was reaching out to take her hand.

“Yes, yes run along my lady, I will see you at the table...Podrick go. Go with my wife please...keep her from killing anybody if you can...Hid the bodies if you can’t.”

“Heard and done my Lord!” Podrick lead the women out the door and down the hall out of sight.

“Lord Tyrion -” Lord Walder began, but Tyrion held up a hand and he fell silent.

After Sasna, Kuthe, Podrick and Mrs. Frey’s footsteps had faded Tyrion walked over to the fireplace and sat down on a dry patch of stone next to the squatting charwoman. 

Tyrion tapped the woman splashing with nervous clumsiness side gently with his gloves and asked, “what happened here?”

The women gulped audibly, then said in a trembling voice,“Best ask Lord Frey. I don’t mettle in the affairs of my betters my lord. I just mind my work and move along.”

“As of four days ago, you work for me old mother...So tell me, what happened here?”

“Newest Lady Frey lost her baby. Emmon whipped her for it while Lord Walder burned the sheets to keep off the bad luck.”

“Why was she beaten for a miscarriage?”

“Cause she did it on purpose. Figured now you come she can get clear of the old man. Take holy orders. No more old husbands for her.”

“Doesn’t she know no convent will take her when they find out she killed her baby?” Tyrion asked.

“Who would tell them my lord?” the old woman asked. “That’s between herself and the Seven gods. None of my business to be sure.”

“As you say. How did my wife get involved?”

“Like she said. Lady Sansa and them men was walking the halls, hears Lady Frey bawling. Being all young and tender hearted Lady Sansa goes charging in to bust up the fuss.”

“Why are you here?” Tyrion asked.

“I was cleaning in here. Emmon called me in to scrub down the hearth and bury the ashes to keep the baby’s ghost from haunting. Cause it wasn’t blessed and named in a Sept.”

Tyrion nodded.

“Fetch whom ever you’ll need from below stairs. I want the master suite of rooms washed spotless with lye water and aired by the time my wife is ready for bed tonight understood?”

“Aye my lord.” 

“Be sure to burn the bed linens.”

“Even that fine feather bed and them goodly pillows?”

“If you want them, take them. Burn whatever you don’t want in the courtyard. Mark my words old mother none of that fabric had better ever find its way back into this castle. Am I understood?”

“As you will, my lord.” The charwoman gathered her bucket and rag then scurried off.

“Lords Walder please be seated ser.” Tyrion gestured to the bed. “Emmon stay on the floor, I would not want Bronn to misinterpret a sudden movement from your direction as a threat...yet.”

“Thank you Lord Tyrion, for allowing me to take a chair under my own roof.” Lord Walder perched on the edge of his bed. It was a relief. He was getting dizzy from blood loss. “Might I have the services of my Maester before I bleed to death? Or is that asking too much of a Lannister’s hospitality?”

“You’re one to talk. I’ve always known the Twins to be a rats nest of unscrupulous ill bred miscreants as ugly as their twisted souls - but murder at a wedding Walder? You could shame the devil Walder Frey.”

“It was your father’s idea!” Emmon accused angrily. Bronn cuffed him on the side of the head with the hilt of his whip so hard he fell over sideways and law dazed on the floor for a long moment. 

“I paroled you, your two eldest sons and current wife in comfortable rooms instead of having you locked in the black cells. You repaid my kindness by disrespecting my lady wife,” Tyrion said to Walder ignoring his uncle Emmon. 

“I've a right to curb my own wife same as any husband! Especially after she stabbed my unborn son to death with a knitting needle! Lady Sansa had no right to interfere!”

“By Right of Conquest the Twins are mine. Lady Stark Lannister gained authority over all that is mine: estates, servants, chattel goods and prisoners the day I cloaked before the Mother’s altar.”

“I’ve known you since you was a suckling brat clinging to Genna, so don’t put on lordly airs with me boy. When Lord Tywin hears how you pissed on his plans you’ll be cut down to size real quick!” Walder Frey boasted.

“My father’s falcon arrived this morning. He denies sending Petyr Baelish to arrange for you and Lord Bolton to murder the Starks and Tullys on his behalf. Lord Baelish says the same...You can read the letters for yourself...or should I send for your Maester?”

“What has Bolton said?” Lord Walder asked clearly frightened at the prospect he had been double crossed and hung out to dry.

“I shall speak to Lord Bolton presently. First we must address the fact you have upset my darling wife and slandered my father’s honor…you know I cannot permit these crimes to go unpunished.”

“This is nothing to do with the Stark girl, or Tywin’s honor,” Walder Frey said shrewdly. “Been waiting a long time to get revenge for the little indignities Genna endured here at Twins haven’t you boy?” 

“Yes, yes I have...Chief Timmett, Bronn help me throw that man,” Tyrion pointed to Emmon Frey. “Out the window. Head first. It is long past time my aunt was a widow.”

II

Roose Bolton was napping when the sound of a key in the lock woke him. He scrambled to crouch low in a corner with his back to the stone wall - ready to defend himself. Ready to attack.

The iron bound thick wooden door of the cell opened slowly. Tyrion Lannister walked into the cell alone. He carried a thick tallow candle in one hand and a clay jug in the other.

“My father swore on his honor to serve House Targaryen all the days of his life. He fought half a hundred battles for them. Served as King’s Hand. Gave his favorite son up to the King’s Guard and still betrayed them at the first convenient opportunity.”

Tyrion sat upon the floor near where Roose was posed like an animal ready to pounce. He set the lit candle down on the bare stone floor and pulled the cork out of his clay jug with his teeth, before drinking deeply.

“My brother stabbed King Aegon in the back and my sister...you know what they say about my sweet sister...given my family history believe me when I say there is very little you could tell me about my family that I would find surprising...so let’s here your side of it Roose..Why?” 

After settling himself comfortably on the straw heap that was Roose’ prison bed Tyrion offered the lord of the Dreadfort the clay jug.

“I do not cloud my mind with wine.”

“No worries then. Tis that cinnamon laced hard cider you Northerns are so fond of. Drink up. There are barrels of this sheep’s piss left over from the wedding.”

Lord Roose Bolton’s head and belly ached with thirst and hunger. After a short debate with himself he sat beside Lord Tyrion in the straw. Lord Roose Bolton accepted the cider pot from Lord Tyrion and drank deeply with great satisfaction. 

They had given him no food or drink for days after he attempted to stab a guard with a shank made from a cracked soup bone. 

“Poisoned?” Lord Bolton asked hopefully when he had finished off the cider. Although Roose was a master torturer he was not keen to experience the techniques first hand.

Lord Tyrion snorted. “You wish.”

“You sent the guard away to speak to me privately. I could kill you.”

Roose showed Tyrion the garrot he had made by twisting straw into a prickly rope.

“You don’t want kill me. I am the only thing standing between you and my wife.”

“I’m not scared of a little girl.”

“Sansa is in a savage mood at the moment, and the Hill Tribe women are whispering very disturbing suggestions in her ears. Sansa asked me if we could skin your head, bury you up to the neck at the bottom of a outhouse hole and leave you to drown...I told her I’d think it over.”

“Those practices were outlawed by the Starks generations ago.”

“We are not in the North and my lady wife is a Stark Lannister. You owe Sansa a blood debt for attempting to murder her mother, brother, pregnant good sister and the loyal Stark bannermen.”

“Lord Tywin will vouch for my actions.”

“My father sent a letter flatly denying involvement in your arrangements with Walder Frey. Do you want to read it?”

“A Southern’s honor. Cheap as chicken shit.”

“This from a man who planned to slit the throat of Good Ned’s widow at her brother's wedding? I thought guest rights were sacred in the North?”

“It was not murder. It was justice.”

“Justice for passing off a bastard as the Stark heir presumptive for years, and making you marry fat Walda to appease old father Frey? Yes, I can see how that could put a man in a killing mood but still-”

“Who told you?”

“Who told you?”

“I rode with Eddard Stark for most of Robert’s Rebellion. I can count months. In truth is an open secret among the Northern lords. Now. Answer my question.”

“A bird that feathers his nest with secrets told me.”

“I should have known better than to trust Baelish.” 

Tyrion had meant Lord Varys. He barely hid his surprise at hearing Baelish’s name in time. 

“Almost every Souther has a whore’s heart and a snake’s forked tongue,” Tyrion agreed. “We are a charming people below the neck, aren’t we?”

“I paid him half fat Walda’s dowry to smuggle Sansa and Arya out of King’s Landing. He brought me the steward’s daughter; I assumed he did not know a Stark from a Poole. Now I know it was no mistake.”

“You can not buy the loyalty of a man with no soul to sell. Tell me, what did you plan to do with the Stark girls once you had them?”

“Marry Arya into the Karstarks to pacify them. Take Sansa as my wife. Marry Rickon into the Mormonts. He’d be no threat out on Bear Island, a honorable house with no men to raise a rebellion.”

“And Bran?”

“I would have sent the cripple to forge a Maester’s chain in the Reach and to the Wall when he came back and ruled the North as King.”

“That is a very good plan. Aside from the cruelty of marrying little girls to men old enough to be their father I find it brilliant in its elegant simplicity.”

“I was a good husband to my wife. We had one child because her flesh was weak not because she was unwilling... Our son was a good man.”

“Pity you did not offer him to Lord Stark before Prince Joffrey came to Winterfell.”

“I offered for Sansa when she was a year old, Karstark offered for Arya. Lord Eddard was pleased to accept our offers. It was his southern wife who objected.”

“Why? If Caitlin had married her daughters into the strongest houses in the North they would have lived with families who treated them like princesses and helped stabilize Robb’s authority.”

“The cat wanted civilized southern men for her precious children.”

“More fool her.”

“If the Stark girls had married in to Bolton and Karstark, Eddard would have made us co-regents over young Robb when he went south and we would have won this war.”

“How would you and Karstark have fought the war differently from Robb?”

“We would have gone to King Balon in Pike first. While Karstark kept a sword to the Kraken’s throat I would have sailed down the Western Coast burning and looting while Edmure attacked from the Riverlands.”

“I see...With you and Edmure keeping my father hemmed in the West the Baratheon brothers and Tyrells could have easily walked into the capital to kill my sister and all her children.”

“Karstark and I would have happily let the Baratheons keep the throne, and Robb keep the North in exchange for the Iron Islands, the golden West, Sansa, Arya, Myrcella, and Shireen.”

“A pair of wife hostages for each of you to anchor your new alliances. ..I can see you as Lord of the Rock, but would Karstark have settled for the Iron Islands?”

“We would have intermarried our children and made a new house: Karlton or Boltark, maybe both depending on how many sons were born. That is as far as our plan got before it was time for bed.”

“Instead of house Karlton or Bolstark of the Iron West, Lady Caitlyn picked a prince for her daughter and it turn into ashes in her mouth.... So what now Roose?”

“Isn't that my question? If it comes to trail, I’ll choose combat and I will win.”

“Kindly reconsider. I have the Mountain in a black cell. If you choose combat it is not outside the realm of possibilities that my wife would name the Mountain her champion to make sure you die. Horribly.”

“You intend to kill the Mountain that Rides? Your father’s favorite bannerman?”

“As slowly and painfully as possible.”

“You have ever killed a man Lannister? With your hands, not your orders?”

“A few...always in self defense - I am not a murderer.”

“You do not have to justify yourself to me. I am not your septon confessor. Just a willing ear...the first time you spilled a man’s life...How did you do it?”

“Stabbed him with a dagger. He wanted to sell me to a freak show. Bludgeoned the next with a shield. The third was a Stormlord - twice my height - had a tree of a long sword...”

“How did you kill him?”

“Ran straight at him. Right under his guard. Knocked him down. Thrust my sword in his hip, opened up his belly. Ropes of stinking organs spilled out. He stared at me. Shocked! I’ll never forget his eyes.”

“How many men did you kill on the shore of Blackwater Bay?”

“I don’t remember. More than a baker’s dozen before I was hurt near as Podrick could figure from the bodies. I only remember the first. He looked so surprised. He could not believe a dwarf had killed him.”

“How did it make you feel?”

“I felt tall...tall as the Mountain Clegane on a horse...I wanted to fuck a wench, beat my chest with my fists and roar... I was a blood drunk animal. It was glorious - then I was stabbed in the face.”

“I am a fellow animal, with animal appetites: to eat, to kill, to rape-”

“I don’t rape.”

“You should. Nothing cows them as quickly as the fear of violation. You can beat a women half to death and still not get the same level of obedience.”

“I can’t, I won’t do that.”

“So it is true. The Western prisoners told me Sir Clegane and his men raped your first wife to death on Tywin’s order but I did not believe it until now. I can see that dead girl haunts you by the pain in your eyes.”

“How did you have time to gossip with my father's men when there was a war to fight?”

“The wolf pup and his bitch mother made all the decisions without asking anyone else's opinion. I had time to gather my own intelligence. Is it true Lord Tywin made you watch his men take turns on her?”

“Yes.”

“Why would Tywin do that to his own son? Why not just pay the girl off and send her away? How could a father be so cruel?”

“Put your sham sympathy away Roose. I know you fathered Ramsey on the miller’s wife on the ground beneath the hanged body of the miller.”

“You think you are a better man than Tywin and I? Don’t lie to yourself. You as pragmatic and morally ambivalent as either of us, you just never had the opportunity to show it. Until now.”

“Is this where I am supposed to prove my moral superiority? Prove I am not evil as you or my father by generously pardoning your crimes against my wife’s family? I am not stupid enough to trust a turn cloak.”

“I can be useful to you Tyrion.” 

“You have already been useful to me Roose. Thank you.”

Tyrion got up from the floor, and dusted straw from his pants.

“Robb Stark is bound and gagged in the hallway. Listening. I wanted Robb to know his true parentage, but knew he would never believe it coming from me.”

“You plan to have Lady Cat do the walk of shame for almost getting you tossed out the Moon Door?”

“She can take her secrets to her grave provided Robb does not contest Jon becoming Heir of Winterfell and lord of the North.Otherwise I’ll have his mother branded a whore and his red haired siblings declared bastards. I’ll send the boys to the Wall and Arya to the Silent Sisters.” 

Roose asked impressed. “You think your wife will let you do that?”

“My wife will do whatever I tell her to do to keep her family alive. She knows better than to expect them to be happy.”

“She is a Stark. They have more honor than intelligence. Look what King Robb did to his cousin Lord Karstark,” Roose Bolton scoffed. 

Tyrion made sure he was standing close enough to the open door for his words to be heard clearly in the hallway. It was important that Robb absorb the point he was emphasizing.

“Sansa won’t make that mistake. I will teach her how to play the game better than you and Robb and my father and Cersei and Joffrey, every other idiot in this backward land that thinks war - legal mass murder - is the only way to get a head and stay on top in this world."

"Nothing gets a point across faster than the point of a sword."

"I disagree. You think power is the flood that destroys everything in its path - I'm telling you the power is in the clouds that hold the rain, the wind, thunder, and lighting. When I'm finished Sansa won't need an army. Her words will be more dangerous than a ten thousand swords.”

**Author's Note:**

> This story will flip back and forth between Sansa and Tyrion's last day in the capital and their travels away from King's Landing.


End file.
